Into the Ashes
by Aurora Nova
Summary: Marcus of Whiterun has settled into a decent life, with many irons in the fire. Trouble comes with yet another Daedric Prince out to exert his authority over Skyrim, and he's made the mistake of kidnapping the Arch-Mage. Someone should have told Hermaeus Mora that you never take what belongs to a dragon. Sequel to "Into the Maelstrom" and "Into the Darkness." Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _[Author's Note: Welcome back to the continuing adventures of Marcus Dragonborn. If you have not read my two previous efforts, "Into the Maelstrom" and "Into the Darkness", you might want to consider doing so, as there are many references back to events which took place in those stories. Know that this is the third installment of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim saga, told with my own quirky twist: Marcus was born, lived and died in our world, Gaea, having never played a video game in his life. After his death, he learns his soul was always bound to Nirn, and that it is his fate to be the Last Dragonborn. Life has been pretty good to him so far, this time around, vampires and dragons notwithstanding. But Marcus will soon come to realize that being a Dragonborn means more than being able to out-Shout someone, and that the Aedra are not the only ones who have power over the lives of mer and men._

 _Disclaimer: All copyrights of canon materials are held by Bethesda Software. I own nothing except my original characters, and a few fabricated plot lines and back-stories.]_

* * *

Marcus of Whiterun, called "Dragonborn," looked over his little daughter's shoulder.

"What are you drawing, sweetheart?" he asked the child in amusement. The paper on which she scrawled abstract blobs of brown, tan and gray didn't look like anything he recognized. Lying next to her paper were brightly-colored sticks of beeswax that Tamsyn, his wife, had made and colored with dyes to resemble crayons. Julia had ignored these in favor of the earth tones.

"Book," two-year-old Julia announced. She picked up her green crayon and continued coloring, but oddly enough, only on the right-hand side of her paper. The left-hand side remained blank.

"You're writing a book?" Marcus chuckled. "Have I got another budding Bard in the family?"

The toddler shook her dark curls and carefully drew another irregular shape on the patchwork image she was creating. "Book," she repeated insistently.

Marcus merely nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then, baby," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. He turned to Jordis. "We'll be gone for most of the day," he told her. "Weddings are always a big deal, and this one will be no different."

Jordis bobbed her head in agreement. "I know, my Thane! Isn't it exciting? We'll have both a High King _and_ a High Queen, ruling Skyrim jointly. Such a thing has never happened before!"

"It hasn't happened yet," the Dragonborn cautioned. "That will be for the Moot to decide, and as I understand it, they'll be holding it tomorrow, so Ulfric and Elisif will have to delay any honeymoon plans they may have made. So the least said about this, the better. I know I can rely on your discretion."

Marcus knew that his Housecarls were clued in on much of the plans the Alliance was preparing to initiate across Skyrim to thwart the efforts of the Aldmeri Dominion in taking over Tamriel. Lydia and Gregor, back at Heljarchen, were practically the central clearing house for getting messages to the Dragonborn. Argis the Bulwark, in Markarth, had deep connections to the Reachfolk, who remained hopeful that their cooperation in the ongoing campaign would result in getting their lands back. Marcus also knew he was placing an enormous amount of faith in his Housecarls, that they wouldn't let the wrong word slip to the wrong ears, but part of accepting their service meant – for him, anyway – taking them out on patrol with him, or running bounty jobs for the Jarls, in order to get to know them and their skills better. Jordis was as formidable with her steel as she was close-mouthed around strangers. Marcus knew he could trust her.

"Are they really in love, my Thane?" Jordis asked now, a worried expression crossing her face. "I know this is supposed to be a political marriage, one of convenience. But are the rumors true? Do Ulfric and Elisif really care about each other?"

Marcus nodded. "So much so that Elisif moved the date up," he chuckled. "I never would have believed she would care for Ulfric as much as she does, but it can only be a good thing for Skyrim."

Relief flooded his Housecarl's face. "That's wonderful!" she sighed. "And to think not that long ago, we all thought of the Jarl of Windhelm as a traitor and a murderer."

Marcus said nothing. It had taken quite some persuasion on his part to keep High King Torygg's involvement with the Aldmeri Dominion a secret. He and the others of the Alliance had debated long and loud over this; it was finally agreed that while progress was being made to prepare their resistance for another war with the Dominion, they were still not quite ready.

"Let the Dominion make the first move," he had insisted. "If we let them know how much we know, we've lost any advantage we might have if they move against us before we're capable of getting dragons in the air and the rest of our troops trained up."

Surprisingly, General Tullius had agreed with him. So they played the waiting game and kept all knowledge of Thalmor infiltration of the court of Skyrim out of the public minds. All that was revealed was that Ulfric had learned of Torygg's involvement in an assassination attempt on Emperor Titus Mede the Second's life. With Elisif backing him up, few in Skyrim were foolish enough to counter public opinion. In just a few short weeks, the cease-fire truce Marcus had first negotiated to deal with the "dragon threat" became a thing of permanency, and it was becoming more and more common to see Imperials and Stormcloaks sharing a drink in the local taverns.

"This is needed," his wife, Arch-Mage Tamsyn had said. "We can only pretend hostilities for just so long before they won't be a pretense any longer. We need to start normalizing relations between the two factions." No one needed to point out that the Thalmor wouldn't be happy about it, and might attempt to circumvent their plans.

To that end, both she and the Dragonborn had remained vigilant to any trouble around the Empire. News travelled faster for them, due in part to the transportation portals Tamsyn's scholars at the College of Winterhold had managed to perfect. In addition, she had developed a form of personal communication shared only by the Alliance and a few trusted outsiders. It was a simple device, really, but Tamsyn was quite justifiably proud of it. A simple earring stud had been enchanted with a combination of Conjuration and Illusion magic. When worn and touched, the wearer could concentrate on whomever they wished to contact – assuming they also wore a stud – and be able to speak to them across the length and breadth of the Empire.

"It won't allow us to do conference calls, just yet," Tamsyn had grinned. "I'm still working on that."

The first convert had been Jarl Balgruuf himself. As Head Coordinator of the Alliance, he swiftly embraced the power that had been given to him to relay orders and messages in minutes, rather than days. Documents, however, still had to be sent by Alliance couriers.

"How do I look, my love?" came Tamsyn's worried voice from their bedroom. She had been fussing with her hair all morning, and now gingerly settled her Arch-Mage's Circlet into her carefully coifed head. "Do you think my circlet smacks too much of a tiara? I don't want to steal Elisif's thunder."

Marcus came up behind his wife and slipped his arms around her. Gazing at her in the full-length mirror in front of them, he smiled. "You look beautiful no matter what you wear. More beautiful when you're not wearing anything," he leered, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Besides, after all the trouble you took to redesign your Arch-Mage's robes, it would be a shame not to show them off."

"Not that anyone will be looking at me, of course," Tamsyn added hastily. "All eyes are going to be on Elisif today. Endarie and Taarie have been practically over the moon designing and making not only my robes, but Elisif's wedding gown as well."

Her new robes were actually composed of a loose tunic belted at the waist and worn over comfortable trousers, which gave her freedom of movement. An official overtunic – a surcoat, in fact – emblazoned with the crest of the College of Winterhold was worn over this, reaching to her knees, but was meant for state occasions only. There was no hood this time; Tamsyn wore her silver and moonstone Arch-Mage's Circlet that she had enchanted with spells to regenerate and fortify her magicka. It was even more powerful than the one she had inherited from her predecessor, Savos Aren.

Marcus said nothing as he slipped easily into the dragon scale armor Balimund and Blaise had made for him to wear around town. It was lighter than the dragon plate he usually wore, but was still very impressive. He liked the helmet design better, as well. It didn't inhibit his vision as much.

He thought back again over the last two years. Tensions between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire were heating up. An assassination attempt against Emperor Titus Mede the Second had failed, and Marcus knew that his Sworn Dark Brother, Cicero, had had something to do with uncovering the plot, under the guidance of the Cyrodiil Thieves Guildmaster, known to some as the Grey Fox. Exactly what his involvement had been, the little Imperial refused to say.

"It's business," he said firmly, and Marcus knew he would have to be satisfied with that.

Only Marcus and Tamsyn knew the extent to which the Breton Guildmaster – whom they knew as Dante Greyshadow – had assisted them in undermining the Dominion strongholds deep within the Ayleid ruins scattered across Cyrodiil. The information Dante had liberated from the Thalmor outposts had served to put the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage on notice of several plots the Dominion had currently in the works. But it was the Guildmaster's alter-ego, an unassuming antiquities dealer named Lance de Fer, whom the Emperor singled out as the man who had saved his life. There had been no mention of Cicero, and the jester preferred it that way.

There had been a private meeting between the merchant and the Emperor, and the Breton man's star was soon on the rise. He was named a Council member, and trusted advisor to Titus Mede himself. With Amaund Motierre dead, his entire network had fallen apart, and it revealed the complicity of several key Council members, and the extent of their involvement with the Thalmor, including Chancellor Lorena Polus. She, in turn, with a promise of leniency, began naming names within the Arcane University, and divulged the locations of several places where magical artifacts were being hoarded away by the Dominion. Tamsyn was ecstatic when the Grey Fox and his Guild began funneling some of these items to her College through the portals, including spellbooks containing magic once lost. Tamsyn and her scholars were kept busy for quite some time, making copies of these to send to Mzulft, Bthardamz and Blackreach.

Serana Volkihar had joined the Alliance in Mzulft, and had spent the better part of the last two years teaching Conjuration. Reluctant at first to indulge in a school of magic that included raising the dead, Serana pointed out to the soldiers there that the Thalmor would have no such qualms, and they'd better be prepared to fight someone who once fought alongside them. Skirmishes with the Falmer in the Velothi Mountains were frequent, and she soon proved her point.

It was also during one of those skirmishes that a small group of Snow Elves were liberated, held as prisoners and slaves by their corrupted descendants. There weren't many – perhaps only a dozen or so – and at first there were a few mutterings by some of the Nords that they should be put out of their misery. Serana, however, exerted her authority as having the ear of the Dragonborn, and the Snow Elves were carefully and respectfully tended of their injuries and illnesses before being sent to the Forgotten Vale by way of the portal to Bthardamz. From there, they were treated as honored guests by Madanach and his people, and escorted all the way to the Vale.

"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Tamsyn sighed. Marcus brought his mind back to the present.

"Mommy! Mommy!" little Julia cried, leaving off her drawing and running to Tamsyn. "Up!" Two chubby arms reached up, and Tamsyn scooped her little girl into her arms.

"You be good for Jordis, okay, sweetie?" she crooned, smooching the child's cheek. Instead of giggling, however, Julia clung to her mother.

"Hug!" the toddler whimpered. Her deep green eyes, so like her mother's, were wide with fear.

"Of course I'll hug you, baby," Tamsyn soothed. "Whatever is the matter with you? Daddy and I will be back later."

"Mommy! Book!" Julia insisted.

Tamsyn gave an exasperated sigh. "Mommy can't read to you right now, darling. We're going to be late. Jordis, take her, please."

"No, Mommy, no!" Julia screamed, struggling to stay in her mother's arms.

"Julia!" Marcus rumbled warningly. "Be a good girl. We'll be back later." He leaned over and kissed his daughter's cheek.

"I can't imagine what's gotten into her," Jordis remarked with a worried frown, and Julia dissolved into keening. "She's been such a good girl all morning, sitting there coloring."

"It's probably separation anxiety," Tamsyn smiled, unflustered. "All toddlers go through it. They want to be independent, because they're discovering they're their own person. But it's also a bit frightening, so they cling to the parent they're trying to push away from."

"You really understand children, my Lady," Jordis marveled. "I'll see if I can't get her to take a nap. She was up with the sun, so she's probably tired now. I'll tell her a story, too, since she seemed to want you to read to her." She carried the toddler back into the bedroom, with Julia whining, "Mommy! Book! No!"

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Marcus asked, looking after them as he and Tamsyn headed towards the stairs.

"She'll be fine, my love," Tamsyn assured him. "Once she's had a nap, she'll be her sunny self again."

Marcus smiled. "You're probably right," he agreed. "Shall we go, then? They aren't going to hold off the wedding for us."

Together, the Dragonborn and his Lady left Proudspire Manor and walked up the hill towards Castle Dour and the Temple of the Divines. Almost everyone who was anyone had been invited, and Marcus knew that somewhere, hiding nearby, Cicero and his growing band of Dark Brotherhood agents – he refused to call them "assassins", though he knew in his heart that's what they were – were on the alert in case anyone attempted to ruin this day for the bride and groom by doing anything as stupid as an attempt on their lives.

They entered the Temple first, to make offerings to the Eight Divines. _Nine,_ Marcus said firmly to himself, touching his chest briefly where the Amulet of Talos still lay, hidden. _Someday soon,_ he promised himself, _I won't have to hide that I'm wearing it._

He stood in silent prayer at each of the shrines to the Divines of Tamriel, pausing longest in front of Akatosh. Tamsyn, he noticed obliquely, had stopped in front of Julianos.

 _I don't know if you're listening,_ he thought privately, _but if you could bless Ulfric and Elisif's marriage today, that would be great._ He didn't expect an answer; the Dragon God of Time had been silent for some months now, so he was surprised when he actually got one.

 _It's not exactly my bailiwick,_ came the amused reply. _That's really more Mara's area of expertise. But you needn't worry about Ulfric and Elisif. They will have a long and happy life together. Quite a few children, too. That should make Elisif very happy. You and Tamsyn have done well in uniting these two. They are just what Skyrim needs._

 _Thank you!_ Marcus thought back, sincerely. _I wouldn't have believed it myself, four years ago, but it seems Tamsyn was right all along._

 _When will you learn to trust that girl?_ Akatosh chuckled indulgently. Then his tone grew serious. _I don't wish to put a damper on the upcoming festivities, but you need to pay attention._

Instantly alert, Marcus acknowledged wordlessly that he was listening. _Trouble coming?_ he asked.

 _Of course,_ Akatosh drawled. _I wouldn't have bothered you today, but as long as we're speaking now, it's as good a time as any. You must travel to Solstheim and deal with the cultists who have been attacking you. Miraak's power is growing. You must stop him before it's too late._

Marcus remembered the attempts that had been made on him. There had been two more in the past two years. Each time it had seemed to him the cultists were stronger than the ones who had come before them, and each of them had carried the same enigmatic note referencing the mysterious Miraak.

 _How much time do I have?_ Marcus asked now. There were still so many irons in the fire, and he'd been running all over Tamriel trouble-shooting and putting out fires where he could.

 _Sooner is always better than too late, Dragonborn,_ Akatosh replied with finality. With that, the Presence faded, and Marcus knew he was alone. Tamsyn was standing at his elbow with a troubled look on her face.

"Communing with the Boss?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yeah," Marcus murmured. "Seems I've got a trip to make when we're done here."

"Really?" she blinked. "Where?"

"Solstheim," he replied, and Tamsyn shuddered.

"Dear gods, not that," she breathed, looking pale.

"You're going to tell me what you know after the wedding, understand?" he told her firmly. Tamsyn merely nodded, her face troubled.

To the rest of Tamriel, the Arch-Mage was something of a legend in her own right, renown as a formidable mage and gifted Seer. She often seemed to know things before they would happen, and see things in the future that could derail their plans. Marcus knew some of that knowledge came from her having played hundreds of hours of the video game in which they had both found themselves after their lives in Gaea had ended.

He was also honest enough to know that she had not been idle while he had been getting strong enough to kill Alduin and destroy Lord Harkon of the Volkihar vampire clan. Her exploration and experimentation with magic was partly game knowledge, and partly due to the fact that she was the daughter of the God of Magic himself, Julianos. There were days when he didn't feel worthy of being her husband. Then she would smile at him and gaze at him adoringly with her deep green eyes, and kiss him with all the fire and passion that echoed his own desires, and he knew that she loved him as much as he loved her.

They joined the rest of the crowd of people who settled in the courtyard outside on the benches provided, and bore witness to the marriage of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, and Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude. Marcus stole a glance around.

Siddgeir was here from Falkreath, lounging indolently in a far back corner. He was attended by his Housecarl, Helvard. Apparently his Steward, Nenya, had remained behind to manage things in his absence. He looked bored, peevish and decidedly sullen.

Laila Law-Giver was sitting closer, aided by her younger son, Saerlund, who nodded and smiled at Marcus. A debilitating stroke last year had left Laila paralyzed on one side. It made speech difficult for her, but she managed with few words and fewer gestures to communicate her intentions through Saerlund. Marcus knew it probably wouldn't be too long before Saerlund would be taking over as Jarl of the Rift.

Brina Merelis, Jarl of the Pale, sat rigidly at attention with her Housecarl Horik next to her. As Marcus watched, she slipped her hand up to her eyes and dabbed at them with an embroidered handkerchief. Marcus grinned. The old softie! She'd have everyone believe she was tough-as-nails, yet attending a wedding made her cry.

Jarl Idgrod of Morthal was next to Brina, on her other side. Looking older than Marcus remembered, with most of her hair gone white, she was attended by her Steward-husband Aslfur, and her daughter and son, Idgrod the Younger and Joric. The boy was staring off into space, not paying any attention to the ceremony.

The Reach was represented by Interim Jarl Esmerelda, who had been appointed after the assassination of Jarl Nepos – _Interim_ Jarl Nepos, Marcus corrected himself – two years previous. There was an older man sitting next to her that Marcus didn't recognize, but he knew enough about magic to realize it was probably Madanach under the Illusion spell. Esmerelda was, after all, a Master of Illusion. She had to be; few people of the Reach, or Skyrim in general, would be happy knowing the Jarl of Markarth was a Hagraven. _Matriarch,_ he insisted firmly to himself.

Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was sitting in the front row with Marcus and Tamsyn, and next to him was his Housecarl, the dark elf Irileth. Balgruuf's children were spread out down the bench, each dressed in their finest clothes, and Marcus realized with a start just how much they had grown. Frothar had shot up another three inches since Marcus had seen him last, and was bulking out. Balgruuf had insisted the boy spend time at court each day, listening to the concerns of the people, and giving him the opportunity to decide how to resolve conflicts. It would take time, but Balgruuf had that time, and was carefully grooming the next Jarl of Whiterun. Dagny was already betrothed to Saerlund of Riften, though he was several years older than her. She was already looking very much the grown lady, casting sidelong glances at her intended, who grinned back at her, and Balgruuf had sighed at how much she resembled her late mother. Nelkir, his illegitimate son, would never inherit the throne of Dragonsreach, and if Balgruuf had been a lesser man, that might have bothered the young man. But Balgruuf had sent Nelkir to Blackreach as soon as he was considered old enough, and he was already proving himself to be capable of handling situations that required stealth. Brynjolf had taken the young man under his wing – under Balgruuf's reproving frown.

"I'm not teaching him to steal, Balgruuf," Bryn insisted with a cheeky grin. "I'm teaching him to gather intelligence. Isn't that what you want?"

Marcus' own children, with the exception of Lucia, who was to perform after the ceremony, had been unable to attend. Blaise was busier than ever at the Scorched Hammer in Riften, and Sofie had one more year with Arcadia in Whiterun to finish her apprenticeship before moving up to the College of Winterhold to study Restoration. Alesan had gone to visit Lars Battle-born at Skuldafn Temple; Lars had become a full member of the Blades, and was being trained as a dragon rider. He hadn't told his parents that. All Idolaf and Afthild knew was that their son had joined a prestigious warrior's guild.

Conspicuously absent was the Thalmor Ambassador, Ramallion z'ha Cirdain. It seemed his invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.

Focusing his attention now on the ceremony, Marcus tried to keep his mind on the words of the Priest of Mara, who had come all the way from Riften to bless this marriage.

"It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children," Maramal intoned. "It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all."

Standing in front of the priest, Ulfric and Elisif faced each other. Ulfric had trimmed his hair and beard only slightly, but he was clean, combed and looking quite presentable in his finest clothes. Marcus was struck by the thought that he had always considered Ulfric to be old, when in fact, the Jarl of Windhelm was probably not fifty yet.

Elisif was positively radiant. Her gown clung close to her form, frothing around her feet, and was made of a fine, white satin embroidered all over with silver filigree. Over this was a layer of silk so sheer it almost seemed as though it was made from spiderwebs, studded here and there with crystals, like droplets of water caught on the fine strands. She wore no veil, but a tiara of silver, studded with diamonds, caught her flaming red hair up high on her head where it cascaded down in ringlets of fire. Ulfric was staring at her in awe.

 _He's probably thinking what I thought when I married Tamsyn,_ Marcus mused, giving Tamsyn's hand a quick squeeze. _How did I get so lucky?_

"We gather here today," Maramal continued, "under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship."

No romanticizing here, Marcus thought with a smirk. Marriage in Skyrim didn't mean a life without troubles, and Maramal was reminding everyone that the lives bound together by Mara's blessing were lives that would share the bad with the good. _Not that either of them needs to worry about poverty,_ he thought privately.

Maramal turned to the two figures before him, seeming unaffected by their importance to the rest of Skyrim. To him, they were simply two souls who wished to be joined in marriage.

"Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?" he asked Ulfric.

Ulfric blinked, bemused. Clearing his throat, he said huskily, "I do, now and forever." His eyes never left Elisif's.

Satisfied, Maramal turned to Elisif and repeated his question. Without looking at the priest, Elisif replied breathlessly, "I do, now and forever."

Smiling, the Redguard priest turned to the congregation. "Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."

He gave one ring to Ulfric and the other to Elisif. In a break from tradition, with some prompting from the Dragonborn, Ulfric was given Elisif's ring and placed it on her finger. Ordinarily, the priest would have handed each their own ring, and they would have put them on their own fingers.

Elisif giggled as she put Ulfric's ring on his finger, and murmured something even Marcus couldn't hear from the front row. The look of surprise, shock and amusement on Ulfric's face, however, was priceless, and he grinned broadly, whispering something to Elisif that caused her to blush as bright as her hair. But her eyes sparkled and she smiled breathlessly as Ulfric – in another break from Skyrim tradition – took his new bride in his arms and kissed her soundly on the mouth in front of all the witnesses. Elisif didn't hesitate, but kissed him back, just as passionately. Maramal shifted uncomfortably.

A gasp rose from the crowd, and a laugh from Balgruuf, who had been witness to a similar ceremony four years previous. Then everyone began to laugh and cheer.

"Did you hear what Ulfric said to Elisif?" Tamsyn giggled.

"No," Marcus replied, shaking his head. "You were closer than I. What did he say?"

"Elisif asked if the size of his fingers was an indication of the size of his manhood, since she was having trouble getting his ring on his finger," Tamsyn grinned. "Ulfric told her he'd let her see for herself later."

Marcus threw back his head and laughed. "No wonder Maramal looked uncomfortable!"

* * *

The banquet reception afterwards was set up on the grand terrace at the Bard's College. Marcus remembered belatedly that he was an ersatz member of the Bard's College, after returning Svaknir's journal with King Olaf's verse in it to Master Viarmo. Doing so had resulted in the restoration of the "Burning of King Olaf Festival," a practice that Balgruuf had found distasteful, considering King Olaf had been a direct ancestor of his. He didn't hold a grudge against Marcus for it, however. Nevertheless, Marcus had obliged a few of the faculty by finding a few lost instruments and singing a few songs for them he remembered from his previous life, and for this, he was rewarded the status of "official Bard", which pleased Lucia no end.

"I can see now where your daughter gets some of her talent from," Master Viarmo remarked. Marcus saw no reason to point out to him that Lucia had, in fact, been adopted, and not fathered by him.

Conversations flowed around him while everyone dined, toasted the bride and groom, and listened to the Bards perform. Lucia had her moment, as the most junior member of the troupe, and the guests were most appreciative of her performance of a guitar solo no one in this world had ever heard before – except the Dragonborn, who had taught it to her, and the Arch-Mage who, upon hearing the first few opening bars, whipped her head around to her husband and hissed, "'Bohemian Rhapsody'? _Seriously, Marcus?"_

"Relax," he murmured. "I didn't teach her the words."

Lucia played flawlessly, and Tamsyn had to admit, that even while the words rang in her head, as a guitar solo the song was beautiful on its own merit.

Marcus saw General Tullius in full, formal Imperial regalia seated to Elisif's right side. Rikke was beside him, on his right. Galmar, of course, was seated to Ulfric's left. Marcus and Tamsyn were next to him, and the Jarls were spread out down both sides of the banquet table.

By unspoken agreement, any talk of the Thalmor, the Civil War – which now seemed as though it might be over – or their ongoing plans to thwart the Dominion were kept strictly out of this happy occasion. Marcus had the feeling they would be brought up soon enough at the Moot the next day.

As soon as the dinner was concluded, tables were cleared away and the Bards stepped up to perform for those who wished to dance. Marcus and Tamsyn joined in the first reel, in which Ulfric and Elisif took part, but afterwards excused themselves and sat on the sidelines.

Ulfric and Elisif came up to them not long after.

"Are you enjoying yourselves, Dragonborn? Arch-Mage?" the Jarl of Windhelm asked. He looked younger and happier than Marcus could ever remember seeing him.

"I am, Ulfric," Marcus admitted. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer, though."

"I am," Tamsyn smiled, "but if Marcus wants to sit out, that's fine by me."

"Perhaps I should take you out on the floor, then?" Ulfric offered, extending his hand.

Tamsyn looked at her husband, who grinned and shrugged. "I can hardly say no to the groom, can I?" he smiled. "Go ahead, my love."

Tamsyn beamed and took Ulfric's hand as he led her out onto the dance floor.

"I'd like to sit this one out with you, if that's alright," Elisif said shyly. Her own childish hero-worship of the Dragonborn made her blush.

"I'd like that, Elisif," Marcus smiled again, gesturing for her to sit.

"So, we did it," Elisif murmured after a few moments. "Ulfric and I are – I can't believe I'm saying this – we're actually _married!"_

Marcus chuckled. "That you are. Nervous?"

Elisif blinked. "About being married to a man I once despised?" she asked. "No. Not anymore. I've come to really know Ulfric, and I understand how he became the man he is today. Once I might have been intimidated, but not now."

"He loves you, you know," Marcus said, knowing it really wasn't necessary. "I saw the way he looked at you during the ceremony."

"I know," Elisif dimpled. "And we're going to work together to heal Skyrim, and restore our place within the Empire." She dropped her voice so he had to lean in to hear her. "But it will be _our_ place, on _our_ terms."

"Best save that for the Moot tomorrow, then," Marcus advised, glancing around carefully.

"Of course," Elisif nodded. "You'll be there, won't you?"

Marcus blinked. "I didn't know I was supposed to be," he admitted. "I thought it was just the Jarls."

"I thought Ulfric was going to ask you," Elisif said hastily. "The Moot is a meeting of all the Jarls, of course, but there needs to be a mediator. Someone not connected to the issue, who can keep order and give everyone's voice a chance to be heard."

"I didn't know anything about this!" Marcus protested. "And does it have to be me? Couldn't you get someone like Master Viarmo, or Master Tolfdir at Winterhold to govern over the Moot?"

"Master Viarmo is an Altmer," Elisif explained. "There are still a few Jarls who don't quite trust that all Altmer aren't Thalmor. And Master Tolfdir is a Mage. Some still don't trust magic. But you, Marcus," she went on. "You're the Dragonborn. Everyone knows and respects your judgement. You successfully headed up the negotiations for the peace talks at High Hrothgar four years ago. Everyone remembers that. And Ulfric specifically asked for you. He said he wouldn't trust anyone else. Especially with the Thalmor Ambassador present."

"Wait… _what?"_ Marcus spluttered. "Ambassador Ramallion will be there? I thought the Moot was to decide who the next High King or High Queen of Skyrim would be. The Dominion has no place there, any more than they did when we were negotiating the peace treaty!"

"The Ambassador insisted on being present for this. He said that whoever becomes High King or High Queen of Skyrim is someone with whom the Dominion will have diplomatic dealings with…or something like that. In any case, we couldn't say no to him without sparking an incident none of us are prepared to face right now."

Marcus frowned. He didn't like this one bit. According to his mentor, Akatosh, he needed to get his keister over to Solstheim to find out more about this Miraak person. But if the Thalmor Ambassador was going to be present at the Moot, it drastically lessened the chance for Ulfric and Elisif to be nominated as joint rulers, and according to Tamsyn, this had to happen.

"Alright," he sighed. "I'm not really prepared for this, but tell Ulfric I'll be there."

"Thank you, Marcus!" Elisif gushed. "You have no idea what this means to us both."

He smiled tiredly. "I have a pretty good idea."

"Your wife is an accomplished dancer, Dragonborn," Ulfric smiled as he handed her back to her husband and reclaimed his wife.

"That she is," Marcus replied, returning the groom's smile. "It's too bad she got saddled with a husband with two left feet."

"We'll see you tomorrow, then?" Ulfric asked, peering at him meaningfully.

Marcus nodded. "I'll be there."

"Wait. What are you talking about?" Tamsyn demanded as Ulfric and Elisif wandered off to mingle with their guests.

"Apparently I've been nominated to Chair the Moot," Marcus replied dryly.

"When did this happen?"

"Just now," Marcus said. "That little minx that Ulfric just married conned me into it. She said the Thalmor Ambassador will be there."

"Uh oh, that's not good," Tamsyn frowned. She blew out a sigh. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to be there, and I'll have to go to Winterhold alone."

"Why? What's going on at Winterhold?" Marcus asked. "And when did you find out you needed to be there?"

"I got a call from Tolfdir as the dance was ending," Tamsyn said, discreetly tapping her earlobe where the plain, silver stud was nestled. There was a matching one on the other side, so as not to arouse too much suspicion, but that one was not enchanted. Marcus surreptitiously brought his hand up to his own ear stud. "Someone's been snooping around in the Midden," Tamsyn continued, "and I need to get over there and find out what's going on, and if our research down there has been compromised."

"Damn," Marcus muttered. "We can't afford to have that get put out there in the open." He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. Go see what's happening at your College. I'll join you as soon as the Moot is done. When are you leaving?"

"I have to leave now," Tamsyn replied. "I'll use the transporter in Castle Dour. Give Julia a hug and kiss from me. I love you both." She kissed Marcus briefly and threw her arms around his waist before slipping away into the crowd.

Marcus stayed long enough to be polite, but made his own farewells to the guests soon after Ulfric and Elisif slipped away. Lucia had officially moved into the Bard's College, and would be retiring there after their performances were done for the night, so it was a simple matter for him to slip into Proudspire through the basement door and head upstairs. He heard Julia crying as soon as he reached the stairs leading up, and made his way to his daughter's room, where a very frazzled Jordis was struggling to calm the baby.

"How long has she been carrying on like that?" he asked above his daughter's howls.

"She was fine most of the evening, my Thane," Jordis replied, "up until about an hour ago. Then she just started crying and wouldn't stop."

"Julia, Julia," Marcus crooned, scooping up the two-year-old. "It's alright, Daddy's here. Calm down."

"M-m-mommyyyy…" Julia whimpered.

"Mommy had to go back to the College for a little bit, sweetie," he soothed. "She'll be home soon. You need to get some sleep, baby girl. Come on, I'll rock you." He went over to the rocking chair he'd had made when Julia was born and sat down. "Jordis," he continued, looking over his still-keening daughter's head. "Why don't you take the rest of the evening off. Go next door and have some fun. They'll be at it for hours yet."

"Thank you, my Thane!" the blonde Nord woman sighed in relief. She bowed and left the room to head downstairs to her quarters and prepare herself for a better evening than she thought she'd have.

For the next hour or so, Marcus crooned and soothed his little girl, frustrated in his ignorance. What was ailing the child? Separation anxiety be damned. There was something else bothering her. He gently probed her gums with his finger, but it didn't seem she was cutting any new teeth. The only thing he could get out of her was 'Mommy,' 'book' and 'no.'

Finally giving it up, he rocked and hummed softly to her, until at last exhaustion claimed the child and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Marcus continued to rock her for another half hour or so, just to make sure, before getting up and placing her in her crib. He covered the permanent mage light Tamsyn had placed in Julia's room as a nightlight, and made his way to the door. Something white on the table caught his eye and he saw the piece of paper Julia had been coloring on earlier in the day. It was folded in half, lying face down, so at first he didn't recognize it for her drawing.

Turning it over in his hands, he could see the patches of tan, brown, green, yellow, gray and white on the front. The white part had a line with hash marks scrawled across it. Marcus opened the paper and saw a stick figure that was clearly meant to be Tamsyn, if the red smear across her head was any indication. A scribble on one side of the paper looked like something his daughter had started to draw, but was unhappy with and tried to obliterate. He smiled, carefully folded the paper and put it inside his tunic pocket, intending to show Tamsyn later. Perhaps she'd put it away with all of the other things the children had made for her.

He smiled wistfully, missing his wife already, and prepared to sleep alone in the great bed they usually shared.

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf met him in the entrance hall of the Blue Palace.

"Well, Marcus, I have to say I'm glad you'll be presiding over the proceedings," he smiled.

"I didn't even know I was going to be here until yesterday," Marcus said sourly. "I thought this Moot was just going to be all of you, the Jarls, sitting around deciding the matter."

Balgruuf cleared his through embarrassedly. "Yes, well…ah…things took a different turn when Tullius informed us the Thalmor Ambassador insisted on being present," he explained in a low voice, eyes darting up the stairs to the Jarl's Throne Room above.

"When did this happen?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Day before yesterday," Balgruuf replied, scowling. "And I don't mind telling you that not everyone was upset. Keep your eyes on Siddgeir and Saerlund."

"Saerlund?" Marcus blinked. "Laila's son? I thought he hated the Thalmor."

"He does," Balgruuf replied evenly. "But he has even less love for Ulfric and Elisif. He might be inclined to vote for someone else."

Marcus had spent the morning at the Bard's College library doing his research. Giraud Gemane, the Dean of History there, had been delighted to pull a handful of books off the shelves when Marcus asked him what – exactly – the responsibilities of the Chairman of the Moot were. They had discussed the historical background of past Moots for a couple of hours, until Marcus felt confident he knew enough to negotiate his way through the procedure to come. So it came as no surprise to him that Ulfric and Elisif might not be the only candidates. As far as the other Jarls knew, only one of them would become High King or High Queen. A joint-rulership, in spite of the wedding, would not cross their minds.

So it was a slightly more self-assured Dragonborn who climbed the steps with Jarl Balgruuf to join the other Jarls, as well as the Thalmor Ambassador and General Tullius, in the Throne Room of the Blue Palace to decide the fate of Skyrim.

"You're here, too, General?" Marcus asked.

"I have to be, Dragonborn," the grizzled veteran drawled. "I'm the Military Governor of this Province until such time as the High King or Queen is selected, and Skyrim can govern herself again."

Marcus didn't ask why the General had not been picked to preside over the proceedings. Certain Jarls would have accepted him no more than they would the Thalmor Ambassador. Indeed, Laila Law-Giver was scowling angrily at both representatives of the Empire, but held her peace. Speech was difficult for her to begin with. To attempt a tirade would have exhausted her. Saerlund guided his mother to a seat, and she sat down heavily and gratefully.

The others took their places and waited for Marcus. The only seat left was the Throne itself, and he didn't feel comfortable taking it.

"We're waiting, Dragonborn," Jarl Idgrod prompted kindly.

Heaving a huge mental sigh, Marcus took the last remaining seat.

"I call this Moot to order," he began. "Let all know that the purpose of this conclave is to choose a new High King – or High Queen – to rule Skyrim for the foreseeable future. I would like to remind you that everyone here will get a chance to speak; your voices will be heard. You will all get a chance to nominate your choice and state why you support them. There will be a round of rebuttals, after which a vote will be taken. Only the Jarls will have the vote, is that understood?"

Nods went around the room.

"Very well," Marcus smiled. "Who would like to speak first?"

Siddgeir rose from his seat. "I will speak," he drawled. "I put my own name forth. As you all know, I am Siddgeir, Jarl of Falkreath, and I am loyal to Skyrim and her people. I know some of you don't think Falkreath is the most prestigious Hold in the Province, but all that can change with a vote in my favor. We have some of the richest mines in Skyrim, the deepest forests, and we are in good standing with the representatives of the Empire. No one can say that Falkreath has turned her back on her duty to the Emperor, unlike some—"

An explosion of protests broke out at this speech, and Marcus' first instinct was to call for order. But Giraud had warned him this would happen, and advised him to let it ride.

"They will shout themselves out," he explained. "Each of them secretly wants the Throne, whether they admit it or not, and each of them thinks they are the most loyal, most productive, most whatever, and that they are the only choice. Let them argue if they must. Your job as Chairman is to maintain order. Only step in if it looks like it might come to blows."

So Marcus let the Jarls rant at each other for several minutes before banging the table in front of him with a block of wood set there for that purpose.

"Order, please, my Jarls," he demanded, only enhancing his voice enough to be heard above the cacophony. "You will all have your chance to state why you believe yourselves to be the best choice. This is Siddgeir's chance. Jarl Siddgeir? Have you finished?"

"No," the Jarl sneered. "I just want to say this: those of you who turn your backs on the Empire that protects you are fools!"

"Better a fool than a boot-licker," Jarl Idgrod intoned.

And so it went on. Brina Merelis from the Pale was next, and not surprisingly, she threw her support to Elisif. Korir of Winterhold spoke next, and stated that Ulfric was the only High King Skyrim needed, Laila, through her son Saerlund, also supported Ulfric, though the young man didn't look happy about having to make the announcement. Interim Jarl Esmerelda, of the Reach, declared she would have Elisif on the Throne.

Ulfric and Elisif exchanged glances with each other, and to Marcus' surprise, voted for themselves, but not jointly.

 _What the hell are they doing?_ he thought in frustration. He had thought they might suggest the joint rulership. Had plans changed? Unable to say anything to that point, he could only call on Jarl Idgrod next.

"I know some of you think of me as an addle-pated old woman," she began. "I know most of you talk about me behind my back, and say I'm losing my sanity, claiming to see things no one else sees. Yet you accept that the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold has this gift, and think nothing of it."

Several pairs of guilty eyes turned from her piercing gaze.

"While I believe the Empire has done much good for Skyrim, I also foresee the need for Skyrim to remain independent. And I have seen a change come over the Jarl of Windhelm; he is not the man he once was. The darkness in his soul has been lifted. I believe we need his strong leadership in the times to come. I vote for Jarl Ulfric." She gave Marcus a keen, searching look as she sat down.

A gasp of astonishment came from General Tullius. Jarl Idgrod had been a staunch supporter of the Empire for many decades. To have lost that support was a shock he hadn't expected. Nor had Marcus, who felt certain Idgrod Ravencrone would have voted for Elisif.

Balgruuf was the last to speak. "I have spent many hours wrestling with my conscience over this vote," he admitted. "I didn't want to have to choose between two people I have come to know and respect." He gave Marcus a pleading look, as if begging him to understand. "But for now, I have to support the Empire that has been good to us all this time. I vote for Elisif."

Marcus was stunned. _What the hell just happened? What happened to the idea of a joint-rulership?_

He rose slowly, confusion and irritation warring for dominance on his countenance. "The vote stands at four for Jarl Elisif, four for Jarl Ulfric, and one for Jarl Siddgeir," he began. "At this time we'll take a short recess—"

"Forgive the interruption," Ambassador Ramallion broke in, "but I believe that at this time, other interested parties, such as myself, are to be given a chance to speak, to…enlighten the Jarls, as it were, to the advantages of voting one way or the other."

Marcus fumed. Damn the mer! He'd hoped the Ambassador wasn't familiar with parliamentary procedure, or whatever passed for it here in Skyrim. As gracefully as he could, Marcus inclined his head.

"The Ambassador is quite correct," he replied. "Forgive me for neglecting our guests in such a manner. You have the floor, Ambassador."

Ambassador Ramallion didn't even acknowledge Marcus as he turned to address the Jarls. "I only wish to remind the distinguished members of this conclave their duty towards the Empire. Now that your…internal strife seems to have been resolved, you should look towards maintaining the good relations that Jarl Elisif has always had with the Empire, under the guidance of her representatives here. By that I mean myself and General Tullius."

Tullius scowled, as if reluctant to be grouped with the Thalmor.

"I also need not remind you of the restrictions of the White-Gold Concordat, signed by all of you, that gives the Dominion access to your Holds at any time. In the interests of…peace…between our peoples, I urge you to begin enforcement of these laws immediately. To those of you who have complied all along, you have the gratitude of the Dominion and the Empire. To those of you who until recently defied the edicts, remember this: the Dominion is here, and we are watching you."

With that, he returned to his seat, but there was an uncomfortable silence left in his wake.

"General Tullius," Marcus invited. "Is there anything you wish to add?"

"I'm not one for making speeches," the General said, rising, "but I'll add just this: vote your conscience. This isn't a popularity contest here. You're deliberating the future of your Province. And while I might be slightly biased on which side of that fence I'm sitting, I won't hold it against anyone who votes based on what they feel is best for their country. This is _your_ land, _your_ people, and each of you knows what's best for them. Now that the Civil War is over, it's time for you to begin healing the hurts it caused. Vote for whomever you think can do that job the best. It's all you can do."

He sat down, still brooding. Clearly, he wasn't any happier than Marcus about the joint-rulership proposal not being raised.

"I think we'll take that recess now," Marcus said. "Let's reconvene in an hour and we will hear rebuttals, after which we will take another vote."

The Jarls rose and drifted off in twos and threes. Siddgeir was already trying to buttonhole Laila and get her to support his claim. The Ambassador remained where he was, and Tullius drifted over to Marcus.

"I hear Elisif has made some improvements to the garden," the General suggested.

Marcus picked up on the unspoken meaning immediately. "Really?" he asked, feigning surprise. "I'd like to see them, if you've got a moment."

The two men left the Throne Room and made their way down to the gardens where Elisif spent much of her time, digging, planting, pruning, and generally taking care of things herself.

"Are we alone?" the General murmured.

"Let's see," Marcus muttered. _"Laas yah niir,"_ he whispered. The only red blobs that showed up around them were the Solitude guards, loyal to Elisif. Everyone else was too far away to hear. "We're good," Marcus said in a low voice.

"What in Oblivion is going on in there?" the General burst out. "I thought we had it all arranged for them to declare a joint-rulership!"

"I know, I know!" Marcus sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into them. Giraud warned me they might all try to claim it. I guess that's just human nature."

"Who's Giraud?"

"Dean of Histories at the Bard's College," Marcus explained, and told the General of his research studies earlier in the day.

"Hmmm…" Tullius frowned. "That's all very well and good, but it doesn't help us now. Is there anything you discovered in your research that would let us introduce the subject?"

"No," Marcus scowled, shaking his head. "As Chairman I have to remain neutral. The Jarls will take another vote, and we'll have to see if that gets them out of gridlock. It has to be a majority vote for one of them – or they'll have to come up with the idea themselves. We aren't allowed to suggest it."

"I thought Balgruuf at least knew what was at stake here," the General groused.

"I thought he did, too," Marcus worried. "But I guess the lure of power is stronger than reason. Maybe Balgruuf thinks we can all guide Elisif into making the right choices."

"That's not going to sit too well with Ulfric, if she gets the vote," Tullius remarked.

Marcus blew out a sigh of exasperation. "You're right about that," he worried. "Ulfric is a proud man."

"Proud and stubborn, like most Nords I've met," Tullius drawled. "We should get back. There's nothing more we can do here, and I don't like leaving them alone too long. I want to know what's going on in there."

"The usual schmoozing, I'm sure," Marcus replied.

"'Schmoozing?'' Tullius raised an eyebrow.

"You know," Marcus grinned, "political maneuvering, brown-nosing, boot-licking. All the intrigue that makes up negotiating a better deal. I'm sure they're all trying to convince each other to change their minds."

"I'm so glad I was never a part of all that," the General sighed in relief. "I hate the posturing. Just give me an enemy to fight and point me in the right direction."

Marcus chuckled. The more he came to know General Tullius, the more he appreciated the older man's acerbic wit.

He spent the rest of the hour seated quietly to one side of the entrance hall. Everyone knew he was there, but no one consulted him. They couldn't. Balgruuf saw him and gave a guilty start, before rallying a smile which the Dragonborn did not return. It was a good thing the Jarls couldn't speak to him right now, because he would have given Balgruuf a piece of his mind.

At the end of the hour he met up with General Tullius again, and they mounted the stairs together. As they re-entered the Throne Room, they could see most of the Jarls had returned. Only Laila Law-Giver was absent. Saerlund, however, was still there.

"Where's your mother?" Marcus asked kindly. "Is she feeling alright?"

Saerlund smiled sadly. "This morning has been…difficult for her," he admitted. "She's gone to lie down for a while, at Elisif's insistence. She asked me to represent her interests here. I hope that's alright."

"If the other Jarls don't object, I have no problem with it," Marcus replied, patting the younger man's shoulder. He stepped back to the Throne and banged the block of wood on the table. "My Lords and Ladies," he called out. "It is time for us to reconvene."

When everyone was seated once more, Marcus called the proceedings to order again and spoke to the assembled nobility.

"My Lords and Ladies," he began. "When we recessed, you were at an impasse. The vote count stands with four for Elisif, four for Ulfric and one for Siddgeir. I now open the floor for rebuttals. You will each be given a chance to explain why one of the nominees is not a good choice for High King or High Queen. We will start with the last person to cast his vote, Jarl Balgruuf."

Balgruuf rose nervously and wouldn't meet Marcus' eyes. "Well, as you know, I've never been on good terms with the Jarl of Windhelm in the past. And while my opinion of him as a man might be changing, and while I think he's a strong man, a force to be reckoned with, I think he lacks the diplomatic polish that Elisif has, young as she is. Ruling Skyrim isn't just about being the strongest; it's also about being fair, and making the right choices, even when you don't like the ones set in front of you. Fighting for what you believe in is a fine thing, but there are times when diplomacy will get you more than a fight."

He cleared his throat and continued. "As for Siddgeir, I don't have a lot to say. Any Jarl who neglects his people in favor of an inflated lifestyle, who allows a city to remain ruined when he has the resources to rebuild it, and who has dealings with criminals – until they are of no further use to him – is not a good Jarl in my opinion, and we certainly don't need that type of High King in Skyrim!"

Balgruuf sat down even as Siddgeir rose to challenge him.

"By what right do you make these accusations about me?" the younger man demanded hotly.

Balgruuf rose again. "By the evidence of my own eyes and ears, Siddgeir!" he countered. "I know for a fact that you sent a letter to Marcus, here, when he first became known as the Dragonborn, just to curry favor for yourself."

"A letter he ignored!" protested the Jarl of Falkreath. "He never replied, and never showed up at my door. How is that currying favor?"

"Just the fact that you sent it is enough," Jarl Esmerelda remarked. "None of the other Jarls had the audacity or temerity to do such a tactless act."

"Even in the Pale, we've heard how the Jarl of Falkreath lives while his people suffer," Brina Merelis added. "Helgen still sits, destroyed, abandoned and deteriorating while you live in comparative luxury. What happened to the people who lived there?" she asked.

"They all died," Siddgeir shot back defensively.

"Not all," Korir supplied. "A few of them came through my city, looking for work. That's how we heard of the dragon attack."

"That attack came nearly five years ago," Jarl Elisif supplied helpfully. "Surely in all this time, you might have been able to raise the funds needed to rebuild the town? Especially if, as you say, you have the resources within your Hold to be considered as a candidate for High King, thus making Falkreath the capital of Skyrim."

"And I've Seen your dealings with the seamier side of Skyrim," Jarl Idgrod intoned. "You might think you can hide it, but you had a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary actively recruiting in your Hold until the Dragonborn shut it down. You still have a robber's den not far from Lake Ilinalta, don't deny it. They prey on people along the roads, and you get a cut from it."

"Alright! Alright!" Siddgeir yelled. "Enough! I withdraw my claim," he fumed. "But don't think that means I'll vote for any of _you!_ I'm done here!"

With that, he rose and left the Throne Room.

"Can he do that?" Elisif wondered.

"Yes, actually, he can," Marcus admitted. "His vote remains a permanent abstention. Which means the eight of you who remain are now evenly divided between Elisif and Ulfric."

This wasn't good, he thought to himself. If the remaining Jarls couldn't decide among themselves to give either Elisif or Ulfric the nod, they remained deadlocked. Nothing would happen, and Skyrim would still be without a ruler.

"Do we take another vote, then?" Esmerelda asked. Her illusion of a middle-aged Reachwoman remained firmly in place, but Marcus couldn't help noticing how Idgrod kept staring at the younger woman. He hoped it wouldn't present a problem.

"We need to allow everyone a chance to speak," Marcus replied, as much as he would like to get the matter resolved. "Jarl Balgruuf, you were first to speak. Have you anything else to add?"

"Aye, Dragonborn, I do," the Jarl of Whiterun nodded. "I've been giving this a lot of thought lately, and it seems to me that what Skyrim needs most is a strong ruler who is also skilled in diplomacy. Someone who is fair to all but won't be pushed around."

 _Please don't nominate yourself, Balgruuf,_ Marcus pleaded privately. _Please don't nominate yourself!_

"Since we seem to be unable to find all those qualities in just one person," Balgruuf continued, "I propose we consider a joint-rulership of the two newlyweds, Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm, and Jarl Elisif of Solitude."

Murmurs went around the room, and there was a decided gasp of dismay from Ambassador Ramallion. For his part, Tullius seemed to relax considerably. Marcus knew he himself barely suppressed a sigh of relief.

"It makes sense," Idgrod mused aloud.

"I don't like it," Korir scowled, not surprisingly. The man was a staunch supporter of Jarl Ulfric, and a Stormcloak to the bone.

"I thought we were going to discuss why someone _wouldn't_ make a good Jarl," Saerlund complained. "This isn't according to procedure."

"Neither was Siddgeir storming out like a child with a temper tantrum," Jarl Brina said drily. "I have no objections to considering a vote for a joint-rulership."

"What does the Chairman say?" Ulfric asked, looking at Marcus for all the world as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"As Chairman I must remain neutral in this," Marcus reaffirmed. "But once the rebuttals are finished, we may consider this in the vote. Does anyone else have anything to say?"

There were murmurs of dissent around the room.

"I guess not," Saerlund replied. "Though I'm not sure what Mother would think of all this. It never came up for discussion. Would we be allowed a short recess while I consult with her?"

"Of course!" Elisif said generously, and since the Jarl of Solitude did not object, no one else could be expected to be so crass as to do so. Gratefully Saerlund rose and left the table, to return a short time later.

"The Rift has nothing more to add," he said enigmatically. "We are ready to vote."

"Anyone else?" Marcus asked, picking up the wood block.

"One moment, please," said the Thalmor Ambassador. "This is highly irregular. Are you actually considering having both a High King _and_ a High Queen in Skyrim? Such a thing is unheard of!"

"Not really, Ambassador," Marcus replied smoothly. "I believe Wayrest in High Rock was ruled jointly by King Eadwyre and Queen Barenziah back in the Third Era."

"He's right," Ulfric rumbled, surprising several Jarls around the table, who hadn't given Ulfric credit for knowing much about history. "I believe there were also joint-rulers in Elsweyr, before it became that Province. I refer to Keirgo of Anequina and Eshita of Pellitine."

"Dunmer, Bretons and cat-men," Ramallion said dismissively. "We're talking about Skyrim in _this_ era, not some long-forgotten history lesson."

Balgruuf spoke up, "A good friend of mine once told me, 'Those who do not learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.'" Here he shot Marcus a sly look. "Why shouldn't Skyrim be ruled by a strong King _and_ Queen, governing together? Each one will guide and advise the other, bolster the strengths, and shore up the weaknesses. It can only be a good thing for all of us."

"It's not as if the Dominion has any say in this matter, Ambassador," Jarl Idgrod reminded him. "Your presence here at these proceedings is merely a courtesy we've extended to you. You have, in reality, no actual vote here."

"I'm aware of that, Jarl Idgrod," Ramallion said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "I would only wish to caution you of the problems that can result from joint-rulership that you may not have considered."

"What problems?" Elisif asked, dismayed.

"Egos very often get in the way, Jarl Elisif," the Ambassador continued, smiling benignly. "One partner, let us say, the High Queen, gives an order which her partner, the High King, countermands. The High Queen then begins to wonder if she has any real power in the relationship. So she begins to assert herself, and only gets rebuffed for her efforts, and told to leave matters to her 'betters', who have had more experience."

 _Oh, he's very good,_ Marcus seethed inwardly. _He's already planting seeds of doubt in the mind of a young Jarl who has always questioned her own abilities._ Elisif looked stricken, and wouldn't look at her husband. Ulfric was livid, but Marcus broke in before the Jarl of Windhelm could speak.

"I'm sure that happens in relationships that aren't built on love and trust," he interjected. "I'm also sure you're aware that I'm married to the Arch-Mage. She's powerful in her own right, as am I. But we don't struggle with each other over who is better, or who has the right to make decisions. We talk it out between the two of us when there's a disagreement, and we never forget that we love, respect and trust each other. Communication is the essential key to success, in marriage as well as in life."

Elisif looked relieved, and threw a questioning look at her husband, who smiled at her warmly. She visibly relaxed. The Thalmor Ambassador looked less happy.

"I'm sure you're correct, Dragonborn," Ramallion said. "You've apparently been very fortunate, so far."

The underlying meaning of his last two words weren't lost on Marcus.

"Let us take the vote, then," Jarl Brina suggested.

No one objected, and Marcus banged his block of wood. "Right then. The proposal is for a joint-rulership of Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm and Jarl Elisif of Solitude, to rule Skyrim together as High King and High Queen, equal in all respects to the other. How do you vote?"

Jarl Brina stood first. "The Pale votes for joint-rulership," she stated.

"Hjaalmarch also votes for joint-rulership," Idgrod intoned.

"Winterhold votes no," scowled Korir, surprising no one.

"The Reach votes for joint-rulership," Esmerelda said mildly. It was really their best hope of reclaiming their land, Marcus knew.

"The Rift votes no," Saerlund announced, and Marcus threw him a surprised look. "Mother refuses to vote with the Empire," he shrugged. "She knows she'll probably be in the minority on this, but it's her choice. She's still the Jarl."

"Whiterun stands with Hjaalmarch, the Reach and the Pale," Balgruuf said, smiling. "We vote for joint-rulership."

"And Falkreath abstains," Marcus added, speaking for the absent Siddgeir. "That just leaves Haafingar and Eastmarch," he added, turning to the two respective Jarls. "How do you vote?" He knew the answer, even as Elisif's eyes twinkled, and the corner of Ulfric's mouth lifted in a smirk.

"Joint-rulership," they chorused together, squeezing each other's hand.

Marcus felt a tangible weight lift from his shoulders. He smiled.

"Then the decision of this conclave is final," he announced. "The vote stands thus: on the subject of joint-rulership, with Jarls Elisif and Ulfric being High Queen and High King respectively, the majority of the votes decides in their favor with six for them, two against and one abstention. Congratulations, Your Majesties!" He bowed formerly from the waist and stepped down from the throne. Ulfric stood and gave his hand to Elisif, helping her up. Together they went to the head of the table, where only one throne waited. It was slightly awkward, and the other Jarls shifted uncomfortably until Ulfric sat down and pulled a squealing, giggling Elisif into his lap. Cheers and laughter broke out around the room, and Marcus saw General Tullius give a broad grin. The Thalmor Ambassador, Ramallion, left in a huff.

"Now the real work begins," Elisif said, raising her voice to be heard among the well-wishes. "We have much to do to heal Skyrim of its hurts, to solidify our relations with our neighbors, and to prepare ourselves for the future." A glance towards Marcus told him she was referring to the next Great War that the Alliance knew was coming. Putting a High King and High Queen on Skyrim's throne together might just have accelerated the Dominion's plans in that area. They counted on the strife in this Province to keep the Empire busy while they prepared. With that crisis now averted, Titus Mede could now concentrate on rebuilding his own crumbling Empire.

" _Dragonborn! Marcus! Are you there? Can you speak freely?"_

The slight tingling in his earlobe told him someone was trying to contact him. The voice was unmistakably Tolfdir's. He moved into a quiet corridor, away from prying eyes.

"I'm here, Tolfdir," he replied, touching the earring. "What's the problem?" He knew the Master Wizard would never contact him unless it was an emergency.

" _Something has happened to the Arch-Mage. You need to come at once!"_

"Tamsyn?" he repeated in alarm. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

" _We're not sure,"_ came the old mage's voice. _"Just please, come as quickly as you can."_

"I'm on my way," he replied, his heart sinking to his stomach. Was this related to whatever was going on in the Midden? He should have asked Tolfdir, but the old man seemed reluctant to divulge too much through the 'ear-buds,' as the Alliance had taken to calling them.

He returned to the Throne Room, where the Jarls were still mingling.

"My Jarls, I have received a message that I'm needed at the College of Winterhold. I beg your leave to find out what's going on. I believe we can consider the Moot adjourned."

"Go, Dragonborn," High King Ulfric said. "Find out what the trouble is. Our blessings go with you that all turns out well."

"Thank you, my Lo—I mean, Your Majesty," Marcus caught himself. "And my thanks for the blessing. I hope you're right."

"I'll head out with you, Dragonborn," Tullius said. "I need to file a report to send to the Emperor, anyway."

As they fast-walked up the boulevard to Castle Dour, Tullius remarked, "I wonder if they had that planned all along. I mean, Balgruuf, Ulfric and Elisif, springing the joint-rulership on the others like that."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Marcus acknowledged with a wry smile. "They've done something similar in the past."

"Don't I know it!" the General groused. He'd been caught flat-footed at the peace talks at High Hrothgar when Ulfric demanded the Thalmor Ambassador be removed or he'd walk out. While Marcus had no doubt that the Stormcloak was prepared to do just that, it turned out to be a staged confrontation between the three Jarls to give Marcus an opportunity to dismiss the Ambassador in a diplomatic manner, to enable them to speak freely about the future of Skyrim, which included getting rid of the Aldmeri Dominion. Five years later, they were still working on that problem.

And now he had another one. What had happened to his wife?

As they passed Proudspire Manor, Marcus ducked inside to let Jordis know where he would be. She was trying to comfort a desperately crying Julia.

" _Mommyyyy! Mooooommmmmyyyyy!"_

"I'm sorry, my Thane," Jordis pleaded, completely frazzled. "I can't seem to calm her down."

Julia sniffled and turned to Marcus.

"Daddy?" she pleaded, stretching out her arms. "Hug?"

"Of course, baby," he soothed, taking his daughter from his Housecarl. Making a snap decision, he decided to take her with him. Perhaps one of the Illusion Masters could put a Calm spell on her while he found out what had happened. They all doted on Julia there, anyway, and spoiled her abominably.

For her part, Julia calmed down immediately, now that she was in her Daddy's arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and sniffled.

Marcus grabbed the bag they kept by the door whenever they needed to go out with their daughter. It contained a supply of all the things she might need. Tullius raised an eyebrow when he saw Marcus emerge with his daughter.

"You're bringing the baby with you?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," Marcus said firmly. Sensing it was the only answer he'd get, Tullius let the matter drop.

The transportation portal in Castle Dour was high up in the tower reserved for the General's private quarters. One room had been sectioned off, which included a private stairway to the main floor below, to avoid anyone encountering regular soldiers or civilians who didn't know the portal existed.

Marcus touched the symbol on the base with his foot that indicated the College of Winterhold – the same symbol embroidered on Tamsyn's new robes, and which was integrated into many parts of the College itself, from the front gates to the tiles on the roofs of the towers.

Still holding his daughter close, and hefting her bag on the other shoulder, he stepped onto the platform.

The sickening lurch of his stomach never ceased to unnerve him, as many times as he had been through the portals in the past two years, but by this time he was prepared and steady on his feet when he reappeared on the platform in the Midden. Enthir was waiting for him.

"You brought the baby?" Enthir blinked. "Was that wise?"

"Since I don't know what I'm encountering, probably not," Marcus said drily, "but she wouldn't be left behind. You tell her. Where's Tamsyn? What's happened? Was it something to do with the trouble in the Midden?"

"One question at a time, Marcus," Enthir replied, flustered, leading him towards the tunnels that led back to the College proper. "The trouble with the Midden has been resolved. We found Illarion snooping around down here, but he met with an unfortunate accident."

"Enthir," Marcus cut in warningly. "We can't afford to have the Dominion breathing down our necks here!"

"They won't be," Enthir assured him. "His body will be found at the bottom of the gorge. The bridge gets slippery this time of year, you know."

"So then what's happened to Tamsyn? Where's my wife?"

"She's safe…for the moment…I think," the Bosmer mage assured him, not entirely convincing.

"Enthir…"

"We don't know what's happened to her, Marcus," Enthir said helplessly. "When we finished…taking care of Illarion's remains…she retired to her chambers. She said she was going to wait for you; you were busy with the Moot. How'd that go, by the way?"

"We have a High King and a High Queen," Marcus reported, and Enthir smiled.

"Thank the gods for that!" the mage breathed. "Now maybe we can get some stability back in this country!"

"So Tamsyn went back to her chambers?" Marcus prompted.

"Oh yes…well…we didn't hear anything from her for several hours. Faralda knocked on her door early this morning to find out if she'd eaten yet, but got no answer. An hour later we still hadn't heard from her, so Tolfdir opened up her door."

"Well?" Marcus demanded, shifting Julia to a more comfortable position. He wasn't wearing his armor today, he realized, and felt unaccountably vulnerable.

"You need to see it," Enthir said in a low voice. "I'm – I'm not sure I can describe it. I've never seen anything like it."

The exit up the ladder to the College proper was negotiated by having Enthir go first, and Marcus handing Julia up before climbing up himself. From there it was a quick jaunt to the Hall of the Elements and the Arch-Mage's quarters.

Tolfdir met them.

"Oh my!" he exclaimed. "You brought Julia! I didn't expect that."

"Mommy!" Julia said, struggling to get down. Marcus dropped her bag on a nearby chair.

"Where's Tamsyn?" he asked, still trying to contain his wiggle-worm of a daughter.

"Behind the wall, Dragonborn," Tolfdir sighed. "Be prepared. She's unresponsive. I don't know how to reach her."

Fearing the worst, Marcus finally set his daughter down, who toddled off around the corner, calling, "Mommy! Mommy!"

Following, Marcus felt his heart constrict at the sight of Tamsyn, seated at a table, rigidly staring into an open book. The worst part, he realized with horror, was that he could see _through_ her.

"Mommy. Book," Julia said sadly, not touching her mother, but giving her a wistful look.

"We don't know what's happened, Marcus," Enthir murmured. "We've got Sergius and his team working on finding a way to bring her back, but…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"It's a Daedric artifact, Dragonborn," Tolfdir said quietly. "I didn't even know she had it, or I would have strongly advised her never to look in it."

Marcus looked at the book in Tamsyn's hands. With a shock, he realized he'd seen that cover before. Wordlessly, he pulled Julia's drawing out of his tunic pocket, where he'd put it.

"What's that, Marcus?" Enthir asked.

"Julia drew this yesterday," Marcus said numbly, shoving it into his hands. "She knew. She knew, and she was trying to warn us."

He crouched down next to his daughter and took her in his arms. "You knew, sweetie, didn't you?" he asked gently. "This was what you were trying to tell me."

The little girl nodded. "Mommy," she said sadly, pointing. "Book."

"Julia drew _this?"_ Tolfdir asked, amazed, looking over Enthir's shoulders.

The patches on the front of Julia's paper were almost exactly like the patches that made up the book cover, down to the scar with stitching that defaced the pale white section. Inside, the red-haired stick-figure gazed sadly out at them, with the scribble to one side of her.

"This…blob here," Enthir said slowly. "Are those…eyes? And tentacles?"

"I don't know," Marcus said, rising to have another look. "I wasn't really paying attention. I thought she just crossed out something she didn't like."

"I don't think so, Dragonborn," Tolfdir sighed heavily. "The multiple eyes here, and the tentacles reaching out to the stick-figure…which I'm assuming is the Arch-Mage herself…seem to indicate Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of hidden knowledge."

"Hidden knowledge?" Marcus echoed. "You don't think Tamsyn was consorting with…with _Daedra,_ do you?"

"Not intentionally, I'm sure," Tolfdir said hastily. "But we all know how stubborn your Lady can be. Very often she will insist she can handle herself in a given situation, such as she did going down to Cyrodiil two years ago."

Marcus fumed. Yes, he knew all too well how obstinate his wife could be.

"She might have thought she could resist the lure of Hermaeus Mora," Enthir put in. "But the Daedra are not to be taken lightly. She may have become ensnared by him."

"Why?" Marcus demanded. "Why would he do that?"

"Hidden knowledge," Enthir shrugged. "Your wife knows things and has secrets no one but the two of you know." He raised his hands in defense at Marcus' glare. "Hey, she hasn't said anything to _me,_ and I'm one of her closest advisors! But I've got eyes and ears. There's something very…different…about her. And that something is probably what Hermaeus Mora is after."

" _Daddy! Mora!"_ Julia shrieked, running as fast as her little chubby legs would carry her and planting herself behind him, holding onto his leg. It made it difficult to move.

He turned to Tamsyn, only to see an amorphous cloud of eyes and tentacles hovering above her form. Marcus reached for his sword, only to realize it wasn't there. He only had the ebony dagger he carried for protection around town.

 _"Stay your blade, Dragonborn…."_ crooned a lethargic voice that echoed around the room. _"You cannot harm me in any case. I…am Hermaeus Mora…guardian of the unknown."_

"What have you done with my wife?" Marcus demanded. "Send her back immediately!"

 _"Or you will…what, Dragonborn?"_ Mora smirked slowly. _"Rest assured…your wife is safe…for now. But you cannot reach her…unless you come…to me…"_

"Why are you doing this?" Marcus snarled impotently. He took a swipe at a tentacle that came too close to Julia, who shrank against him, but the appendage dissipated into ether and was gone, only to grow again from another part of the Daedric Prince.

 _"I should have thought…that was patently…obvious…"_ Mora said smugly. _"The Arch-Mage has secrets…secrets I wish to know. She will give them to me…willingly or no. So will you…if you wish to see her again."_

There was a humming sound, as if Hermaeus Mora was exceedingly amused. _"How interesting it will be…to have the First Dragonborn under my sway…as well as the last."_ The unblinking, double-pupiled eyes fixed all their gazes on Marcus. _"Come to Apocrypha, Dragonborn…if you dare. It is the only way…you can save your wife."_

With that, the horrific apparition vanished.

There was silence for a long moment, as each adult in the room digested the ramifications of that encounter. Finally Julia spoke.

"Daddy?" she asked. "Go Mommy?"

Marcus gave a helpless sigh. "Yes, sweetie," he replied, picking up his daughter and cuddling her close. "Daddy's going to go get Mommy."

* * *

 _[Author's Note: And we're off! This will be the Dragonborn DLC told in my own inimitable style. Marcus needs to find a way to this Apocrypha that Hermaeus Mora mentioned. And he still needs to…as he put it, "get his keister over to Solstheim" to find out more about the Cult of Miraak. He can only hope that Skyrim will be alright without him for a bit. I will update when I can; I have a new job since February – in retail – and my hours are all over the place, so I will work on Chapter 2 when I can. Stay tuned! And please take a moment to review, if you would. It lets me know if I'm staying on track.]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Marcus sent a private call to Jarl Balgruuf to meet him at Proudspire Manor before returning with Julia to the transporter in the Midden. His daughter was quiet now, and didn't object to being removed from the presence of her catatonic, transparent mother. It was as if she knew, somehow, that her Daddy would fix things.

Marcus felt his heart sink. He didn't know how to fix this. As Tullius had remarked earlier, point him at an enemy and tell him to fight, and he would throw himself into his work. It was something he knew he could do. Magic, on the other hand, especially where the Daedra were concerned, was another thing entirely.

"Daddy sad?" Julia asked from her perch on his hip. She reached up with her chubby fingers and patted his cheek, already showing a 'five o'clock shadow' despite being shaved for the wedding the day before.

"Yes, sweetheart, Daddy's sad," he replied smiling down at her. "But it will be alright soon. Don't worry."

Giving a small sigh of satisfaction, Julia settled back and nestled her head against his chest.

Back at Proudspire Manor, Jordis took Julia upstairs to put her to bed. This time, there was no screaming or crying. The child was already half-asleep. Balgruuf was waiting for him in the sitting room.

"I'm here, Marcus," said his oldest friend in Skyrim. "Tell me what happened."

Marcus filled him in on what he had seen at Winterhold, and about Hermaeus Mora's challenge.

"By Shor!" Balgruuf blurted. "This couldn't have come at a worse time. We need our Arch-Mage."

"I need my wife," Marcus intoned morosely.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Balgruuf replied, abashed. "I forgot myself. Of course we need to get your wife back. Do you have any ideas how you'll do that?"

"None at all," Marcus replied wearily, running a hand over his face. "But there's more. I need to go to Solstheim."

"Solstheim?" Balgruuf blinked. "Why would you want to go there?"

"The cultists who have been coming after me originated there. I need to find out who's behind it and put an end to it."

"I see," Balgruuf said thoughtfully. "But Marcus, can't that wait? As you've said, you need to find a way to rescue your wife, to find a way into this…Apocrypha." Balgruuf gave an involuntary shudder. No one in their right mind would willingly go into a realm of Oblivion. It was true that the Savior of Bruma had done it, to close the Oblivion gates, but that was two hundred years ago.

"No," Marcus said, shaking his head. "It can't wait. I have it on good authority that the sands of Time are running out on this."

"And your wife?"

Marcus blew out a breath of frustration. "I don't know, Balgruuf," he said honestly, despair written all over his face. "I know the Dunmer are closer to the Daedra than we humans are. Maybe someone over there will have some ideas. I don't think Hermaeus Mora would have issued that challenge to me unless he knew I could find a way to get to him."

He paused, remembering something the Daedric Prince had said. "He also mentioned something about having the First Dragonborn under his sway, as well as the Last."

"The First Dragonborn?" Balgruuf frowned. "What could he mean by that?"

"I'm not sure," Marcus replied. "But I have a few ideas. I won't say anymore right now, in case I'm wrong."

"And the Last Dragonborn?" Balgruuf asked. Marcus gave a sad smile.

"Why Balgruuf, old friend, didn't you know? That's me."

Balgruuf frowned again, puzzled, until his brow cleared. "Of course," he breathed. "I almost forgot: 'When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world; when the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped; when the thrice-blessed fall and the Red Tower trembles; when the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls; when the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding; the World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.'" He paused, looking at Marcus with renewed perspective. "But you've already defeated the World-Eater, my friend," he continued. "There was nothing in that prophecy about the First Dragonborn."

"Neither was there anything in there about taking on an ancient Vampire Lord," Marcus chuckled ruefully, "but I managed to pull that one off as well."

Balgruuf rose. "When will you leave for Solstheim?" he asked, heading for the door where Irileth waited just outside.

"Day after tomorrow," Marcus answered. "I'm taking Julia back to Heljarchen in the morning so Gregor and Lydia can watch over her. She'll at least have the company of Korst and Kirsten to play with."

"How are the twins doing? And Gregor and Lydia?" the Jarl of Whiterun asked.

"They're all fine," Marcus smiled. "The twins are only just over a year old, but growing fast. Korst is already bigger than his sister."

"They've wasted no time starting a fine family," Balgruuf chuckled. Lydia had been in his service before being appointed Housecarl to the new Thane of Whiterun five years before. Though disappointed Marcus hadn't settled and built a new home within his Hold, he understood the need to be centrally located to most of the points of interest for the Alliance. "I'll keep you informed of events," Balgruuf said, touching his ear in a significant gesture, where the gold stud lay, gleaming in the light of the sconces. "And I won't let anyone else know about the Arch-Mage, unless they need to know."

"I know I can rely on your discretion, my friend," Marcus smiled warmly, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Thank you."

After Balgruuf left, Marcus went upstairs to check on Julia before giving instructions to Jordis. His daughter lay sleeping in her crib, both little fists curled up under one cheek. The stuffed doll Tamsyn had made for her was clenched tightly under one arm. One button eye was missing, and the yarn hair was half pulled-out, but Julia wouldn't sleep with anything else.

Smiling tenderly, Marcus leaned over and placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek. He uncovered the night light and left the door ajar. Jordis awaited him downstairs. She hadn't gone far while he had spoken to Jarl Balgruuf, and Marcus was aware she had heard everything.

"Is there anything you need, my Thane?" she asked, her face devoid of emotion.

"Gather whatever healing potions we have here," he said. "Just the strongest ones. I'll pick up a few more from Heljarchen before I leave there. Make sure Julia's bag is packed. I'll leave the dragonscale armor here; I'm taking the dragonbone with me."

"What about soul gems?" his Housecarl asked. Marcus hesitated. Ever since the Soul Cairn, he had disliked using the gems to recharge his weapons, but he couldn't deny they were more effective when at full capacity.

"I'll get some at Heljarchen," he said shortly. "That's all for now. Take care of things while I'm gone. If anything comes up, send word to Lydia."

"Of course, Thane," Jordis nodded. "Good night. Sleep well."

 _Not possible,_ he sighed inwardly. Not, at least, until Tamsyn was back home, safe and sound. He didn't know much about Hermaeus Mora, but his overall opinion of the Daedra was that they were pains in the ass with overinflated egos. Immensely powerful immortal beings, to be sure, but still a nuisance he'd rather live without.

When at last his final preparations were completed, Marcus settled down restlessly in the great bed alone for the second time in two nights. But sleep proved elusive this night, and he finally gave it up, uncovering the mage light and padding softly out to the loft to pick a book to read. Perhaps in doing so he could relax enough to drift off.

One book, with a white binding, stood out among the other volumes bound in varying hues of brown, red, green, blue and tan.

" _The Aetherium Wars,_ by Taron Dreth, eh?" he read. "Hmm…I don't remember picking this one up before. Tamsyn must have found it."

A wave of longing washed over him, followed swiftly by a grim resolve to mete out justice to the Daedric Prince who had kidnapped his wife. Scowling, he brought the book back to bed and shifted until he was comfortable enough to read.

" _For centuries, scholars have marveled at the sudden collapse of the Dwemer city-states,"_ the author wrote. _"Even the Nords seem to have been taken by surprise, though their chroniclers were quick to ascribe their success to King Gellir's inspired tactics and the blessings of Shor._

" _My research suggests a much different cause, however. In the decades preceding their fall, the dwarven cities of Skyrim had been decimated by internal disputes and infighting over a most surprising cause: Aetherium."_

As Marcus continued to read, he became fascinated by the thought that somewhere, out there in Skyrim, perhaps, a Dwemer city still existed that had never been discovered. Perhaps this Aetherium Forge mentioned by Taron Dreth might still exist somewhere, as well. He flipped back a few pages and re-read the only clue he'd found as to its possible whereabouts.

" _In the years following King Harald's reign, the Dwemer discovered a considerable source of Aetherium in their deepest delvings. An alliance of four cities, led by Arkngthamz, the great research center in the southern Reach, was formed to oversee its extraction, processing, and study, and a new 'Aetherium Forge' constructed to smelt it under precisely controlled conditions."_

Marcus set the book aside and rubbed his burning eyes. Part of him would have loved nothing better than to chase down myths like these. But he had other fish to fry, and he needed to get an early start in the morning. Reluctantly, he covered the mage light and settled down into a restless sleep.

* * *

" _You're a difficult man to get through to, Marcus," said the bearded, grey-robed man he had only seen once before in Sovngarde. "Don't you ever sleep?"_

" _I'm sorry Julianos," he replied. "Akatosh doesn't seem to have any trouble."_

" _Akatosh cheats," Julianos grinned. "He uses the connection he has with your blood to speak to you. I have to use your unconscious mind. You're a deep sleeper, when you do at all, do you know that?"_

" _Why are you contacting me?" Marcus asked._

" _Isn't it obvious?" Julianos scowled. "A Daedric Prince makes off with my daughter and my fellow Aedra expect me to sit back and take that kind of insult? I think not!"_

" _You're a god," Marcus pointed out. "Can't you just blast him to pieces?"_

" _It doesn't work like that," the god of magic and wisdom said. "The Daedra are very powerful, because they never gave up any part of themselves to create Mundus, as we did. The most we can do to them is banish them."_

" _So banish Mora," Marcus replied, puzzled._

" _With my daughter stuck in Apocrypha?" Julianos glared. "Use your head, Marcus. She would be trapped there forever. Neither of us wants that. No, we have to outsmart the Prince of Secret Knowledge."_

" _How do we do that?"_

" _You, Marcus," his father-in-law said. "Not me, not us. You. I cannot interfere or manifest physically in Nirn. All I can do is guide you through your dreams, and that will be difficult to do in Solstheim."_

" _I don't understand—" Marcus began._

" _You will when you get there," Julianos assured him. "Seek out Azura. Only she can help you."_

* * *

Marcus woke up as dawn began filtering in through the windows. Groggily, he hauled himself out of bed and reached for the padded clothing he wore under his armor. As he readied himself for the day, he thought back on his dream. He was familiar enough by now with how the Aedra worked to know it was more than a simple dream.

 _Seek out Azura,_ Julianos had told him. But why send him to a Daedra? Perhaps the god of wisdom and magic believed in fighting fire with fire, so to speak. He didn't know much about the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn, except that she was held in high regard by most Dunmer, and was generally considered to be "not as evil" as some of the other Princes. He knew the Shrine of Azura was located east of Alftand and south of Winterhold. He intended to go to Windhelm anyway to look up the _Northern Maiden_ , the ship that had carried most of the cultists to Skyrim. There were a few words he wanted to have with her captain. It wouldn't be going too far out of his way to visit Azura's Shrine and see what help she might be able to give him in defeating Hermaeus Mora and getting his beloved Tamsyn back.

Odahviing flew him and Julia to Heljarchen, to leave his daughter in the care of his Housecarl and Steward. Lydia and Gregor were already in the yard waiting for him. Korst and Kirsten were in Gregor's arms, easily carried by their burly, bald father. Lydia confidently approached Odahviing and held up her arms to take Julia from Marcus before he climbed down himself.

"Bye-bye, Oving!" Julia smiled, patting the dragon's front leg. He snaked his head around towards her and gently nudged her.

" _Guur, mal Dovahkiin,"_ Odahviing rumbled quietly. "Goodbye, little Dragonborn. Perhaps when I see you again, you'll get my name right? Hmm?" He chuckled. "I will wait here, Thuri."

"Balgruuf called and explained," Lydia said as Marcus turned toward her, touching her ear. "Be safe, and don't worry about Julia. We'll look after her."

"I've packed some things you might need for your journey, Thane," Gregor said, nodding to a backpack filled with supplies, set by the front door. He went over to an open-topped cage that stood only two feet high. It was filled with a down comforter and plenty of toys. Tenderly he kissed each baby before placing them in their playpen.

Julia toddled up to Gregor, putting up her hands. "Up!" she demanded, and the bald Nord laughed as he easily swung her up onto his shoulder.

"Down!" Julia squirmed, reaching out to the toddlers in the pen.

"Oh, I get it," Gregor chuckled. "I'm just a means to an end." He grinned as he set Julia down with the two babies she had known practically all her short life.

"Korss!" Julia said happily, patting the little boy's cheek. He responded by giving her a drooling grin. "Kirssen!" she crowed, smiling. Kirsten, for her part, merely fussed.

"We are cutting new teeth," Lydia explained.

"Been there," Marcus grinned before sobering. "I don't know how long this will take…"

"Take all the time you need, Thane," Gregor said sincerely. "We'll look after things here."

"Thank you," Marcus replied, meaning it. He nodded to both and kissed his daughter's cheek before mounting Odahviing, who waited patiently nearby. As they lifted into the sky he turned to look back. The last sight of his daughter was of her standing in the playpen waving to him. He waved back, but wasn't sure if she could see him.

"Where may I take you, Thuri?" Odahviing called back to him.

"Winterhold first," Marcus replied, enhancing his voice with the power of the Thu'um so that Odahviing could hear him above the rushing of the wind – Kyne's Breath, the dragons called it. "After that the Shrine of Azura, and finally Windhelm."

"As my Thuri commands," the giant, red dragon replied. In the past two years, since his confrontation with the firedrake over his refusal to carry what he termed 'lesser joore,' Marcus had had only one other argument with the dragon: he patently refused to fly to Solstheim. Durnehviir's tale of that horrific place had spread throughout the _dov,_ and now none were willing to take him there.

Marcus couldn't blame them. It had taken Tamsyn weeks to clear all the ash from Durnehviir's lungs, as well as Enthir's and his own. His coughing had kept both of them up late at night, and he found he was unable to Shout until he was well again.

 _And now I'm going back into that hell-hole,_ he thought sourly. Well, there was no help for it. It wasn't only Akatosh who felt he needed to be there; Julianos thought so, too. He would just have to wear a mask and hope he could deal with this Miraak person quickly so he could come back and concentrate on how to rescue his wife.

Nothing had changed since his last visit to Winterhold the day before. Tamsyn was still catatonic and transparent, and both Tolfdir and Enthir were handling the duties of the Arch-Mage in her "absence." Sergius Turrianus was already working on ways to break the enchantment, but his prognosis wasn't good.

"I can't undo what a Daedric Prince has done," he told Marcus when the Dragonborn inquired. "I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good. It would take the power of another Daedra to break this enchantment."

 _Another Daedra, eh?_ Marcus thought. Well, Julianos _had_ advised him to seek out Azura. The real question was whether she would be inclined to help him or not. None of the Daedra he had encountered so far had ever done anything, or given him anything, without wanting something in return. What would Azura's price be?

* * *

"I don't fucking believe this!" Marcus growled dangerously, his hands still on the altar in front of him. "You made me jump through all these hoops and kiss your ass to fix your broken toy, and only _now_ do you tell me you can't help me?"

A few paces away, Aranea Ienith paled; a rather significant feat for a Dunmer. No one spoke to her Lady of Roses that way!

" _You came to me, mortal, as I had foreseen,"_ Azura replied mildly. _"I knew you were the one who could take on this task and succeed."_

" _I've wasted time here that could have been spent on other things more important!"_ Marcus thundered, infuriated.

" _You asked for my help in rescuing your wife from Hermaeus Mora,"_ said the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn. _"And I said I would help you, if you helped me. I did not then, nor did I ever imply that my help would include direct interference in Mora's schemes. Such a confrontation would be cataclysmic for Nirn."_

Marcus felt some of his rage subside. In point of fact, Azura was correct. It didn't ease his frustration, however.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Marcus demanded. "I'm not any closer to getting my wife back than I was before I helped you."

" _You are closer than you might think,"_ Azura replied calmly. _"You have stated already that you must travel to Solstheim. Seek out my namesake there. Follow the path that leads to Miraak and in the process, you will find your wife."_

"You could have told me that the first time I asked," Marcus muttered sourly.

" _But then I would not have my Star returned to me, to cleanse and repair,"_ Azura pointed out cannily. _"Because of your assistance, my Star has been restored, and Malyn's soul has been consigned to Oblivion. You have done well, mortal. As was destined, you are free to use my Star as you see fit."_

"Thanks, I think," Marcus replied, still not mollified. He didn't know what he would do with the artifact. It seemed to be something a mage would find better use for, but it wasn't something you could just leave lying around for another Malyn Varen to misuse.

" _Farewell, mortal,"_ Azura saluted him. _"Know that Azura will be guarding over the threads of your fate, in the Twilight."_

Her Presence faded, and Marcus was alone with Aranea, who eyed him warily.

"I'm not entirely happy about having the Daedra poke around in my life," he told her bluntly.

"You're an Imperial," the priestess told him. "It's an entirely understandable reaction. But at least you have some direction for your life's path from here on." She looked ineffably sad for some reason.

"What do you mean?" he asked kindly, his anger suddenly dissipated. He had nothing against the woman. It was the Daedric Prince with whom he took issue.

"While you were in the Star," Aranea confessed, "Azura gave me a vision. Her last, she said. I have never been without Azura's foresight since escaping Morrowind. I….I don't know what to do." She refused to meet Marcus' eyes and turned away.

"Azura cut you off?" he blinked. "After all you've done for her, and for all the years you've devoted to her service?"

Aranea nodded, but still wouldn't look at him. "No, she said my part was over. That my fate had moved beyond the Twilight, and I was on my own."

Anger towards all Daedra in general filled Marcus again. He was beginning to regret returning the Star to Azura. Perhaps he should have taken Nelacar up on his offer to fix the damned thing.

" _We're nothing to the Daedra,"_ the elven mage had warned him. _"Pawns to move around, praise and punish as they see fit."_

Even at that point, Marcus had been inclined to agree with him. But he was still hoping Azura would help him get Tamsyn back. Now he had the Star, restored to its original purpose and function as a soul gem that would never break, but he still didn't have his wife. What made this all so much worse was that he had wasted time here when he should have been on his way to Solstheim. He'd had the wrong Azura all along. He hadn't remembered Enthir's friend!

"You're a priestess, right?" Marcus asked Aranea now. "You're a talented mage. You could offer your services almost anywhere."

"I had thought of that," Aranea admitted. "But I'm not really sure where to go. Not Windhelm, of course. The Nords there don't much like Dunmer – or magic, either. As a Daedra-worshipper, there aren't many places I could go where I would be welcome."

She paused, as a thought seemed to occur to her.

"If you need me," she said hesitantly, "I'd be honored to accompany you, Guardian of the Star. It would give me a purpose."

Marcus blinked, then frowned slightly. "I'm not really sure I want to be called that, Aranea, no offense meant. I'm feeling right now like I've been thoroughly played."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Used, Aranea, by your Mistress," he clarified. "Azura knew all along she wasn't going to give me the help I asked for, yet she dangled that carrot in front of me to get me to do what _she_ needed to have done. She could have sent you to get the Star back."

"I couldn't have left the Shrine unattended!" Aranea exclaimed in horror.

Marcus thought immediately of Gelebor, and relented. "No, I'm sorry. I guess you couldn't do that. But what about now? If Azura doesn't need you anymore, will you still continue to tend the Shrine?"

Aranea shrugged helplessly. "I have nowhere else to go," she admitted humbly. "I only offered my services to you because I was a sorceress of no small skill before I came into Azura's faith. Afterwards, her magic sustained me. I never needed to eat or drink."

A gurgling sound came from her stomach, and Aranea looked down in alarm, placing her hand there. Marcus grinned.

"I think it's all catching up to you now," he chuckled. "But I've got an idea, if you're willing to entertain it."

"Of course, Guardian!" the Dunmer priestess nodded eagerly. "I'm willing to do whatever task you need done. I can easily provide my spells to your cause, protect you from harm, defeat your enemies…"

"How do you feel about dragons?" Marcus asked. "Or Altmer?"

The questions took Aranea by surprise.

"I…I haven't really thought about them," she confessed. "Dragons have threatened me in the past, and I've dealt with them, but they kept coming back until just a few years ago. None have bothered me since. As for Altmer…well, I'm a Dunmer. We don't have a very high opinion of them."

Making a snap decision, Marcus filled Aranea in on the general plan for ridding Tamriel of the Aldmeri Dominion.

"We have several base camps in hidden locations around Skyrim," he told her. "You would be a welcome addition to any of those camps. You can help train up anyone wanting to learn magic, and lend your support when we launch our resistance against their attacks."

"When will this happen?" she asked.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "Not quite yet," he admitted. "We're still not quite ready to meet the Dominion head-on. I have good people training to ride dragons – those who have agreed to work with the _joore_. That's 'mortals' in the dragon language, by the way. I also have the Reachfolk working on training the recruits in stealth and guerrilla tactics."

"'Guerrilla?'" Aranea asked, perplexed with the term.

"Yeah, jumping out from hiding to attack, setting traps and snares to catch the unwary, that sort of thing. The Reachfolk are past masters at that kind of warfare, and they have an inborn resistance to magic, as well as being formidable mages themselves."

"It sounds exciting," the Dunmer woman enthused. "And you really think you can defeat the Aldmeri Dominion?"

"I hope we can," Marcus replied earnestly. "We have to try. Otherwise, we let them stomp all over us and wipe us out. I'm not taking that lying down."

"I think I would be honored to assist your cause, Guardian," Aranea nodded. "And the Reach sounds like the place I'd like to be."

"I can take you there—"

"No, Guardian," Aranea said softly. "My Lady has already consumed much of your valuable time. I will not impose upon you further. Just tell me where I need to go. I'll start out right away."

Marcus smiled. "Good enough. Head for Bthardamz." He took out his map – a new one since he'd worn the other one out – and pointed out its location to her. "When you get there, make this sign and give the password, 'independence.' They'll know you were sent by me."

He taught her the Reachfolk sign of non-aggression and carefully watched her perform it until she did it correctly and easily.

"I'll let Madanach know you're on your way, and to expect you," he said. "If you travel overland, you can go to Dawnstar and take the ferry to Icewater Jetty. It's closer than Solitude. Since the vampires at Volkihar Keep have been wiped out, Harlaug isn't as reluctant to head out that way. He might still charge more. Have you got enough money?"

Aranea shifted uncomfortably. "I have never needed any, Guardian."

Marcus nodded. He suspected as much. "Take this, then," he replied, handing her a pouchful of coin. "It should be enough to see you safely to Bthardamz. Good luck!"

"Thank you," Aranea said gratefully, "for everything! I hope we meet again. And the best of luck to you in rescuing your wife."

"Thank you," Marcus said sincerely. "From your lips to the Aedra's ears!" He watched her descend the steps to her small pup tent pitched at one side of the Shrine base. She gathered together a few things, the saluted him and began to make her way west.

Marcus called for Odahviing and directed him to take him to Windhelm, landing outside the stable near the Khajiit caravaneers. Alfarinn's horse Nestor didn't like dragons any more than Gerduin did in Whiterun.

Several minutes later found him inside the city walls heading for the dockside gate. From there, it was a short walk down to the piers to find out which ship of the many docked there was the _Northern Maiden_. An Argonian dockworker pointed it out to him, and Marcus went over to ask permission to come aboard.

"Who's the captain?" he asked one of the sailors.

"Captain Gjalund runs this ship," came the reply. "Talk to him if you want to book passage." The blond-haired Nord was pointed out to him and Marcus stepped over to have his 'few words.'

Gjalund Salt-Sage looked up from the net he was mending at the shadow blocking the sun. He had to look a long way up. The figure was clad in dragonbone armor, wearing a blade made of the same material, and was scowling at Gjalund in a most unpleasant manner.

Gjalund was no fool. He'd heard the stories. He knew exactly who it was who stood before him. What he didn't know was what he had done to piss off the Dragonborn.

Attempting to make light of the matter, despite the sinking feeling in his gut, Gjalund spoke heartier than he felt at the moment. "If you're looking to book passage, you'll find no better ship than the _Northern Maiden,"_ he said proudly.

"You're the Captain?" the imposing figure before him demanded.

Nope. Charm wasn't going to help him here, Gjalund decided. Wariness crept in. "Sure," he nodded. "That's me. Why?"

"I'm Marcus Dragonborn," Marcus said evenly. "And I have been plagued with cultists coming from Solstheim to kill me…cultists who came over on _your_ ship."

Startled, and more frightened than he'd ever been in his life, Gjalund back-pedaled quickly.

"Now hold on!" he exclaimed. "That wasn't my fault!"

"Isn't it?" the Dragonborn asked, a dangerous tone in his voice.

"I didn't know they were going to attack anybody!" Gjalund insisted. "I don't even remember coming back from Solstheim with them!"

"How could you not remember something like that?" Marcus asked scornfully.

Captain Gjalund looked frazzled. "It's…hard to explain," he floundered. "I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then…" He paused, frowning hard in concentration. "Next thing I remember, I was here, and they were gone." He looked up at the Dragonborn, a pleading expression in his pale blue eyes. "That's not right, losing whole days like that. There's been something strange going on over there for a while, but after this…I'm done." He scowled. "I'm not going back to Solstheim."

"Yes, you are," Marcus said firmly. "I need to get to Solstheim, and you're going to take me."

"Have you been listening to me?" Gjalund insisted. "I'm not going back there!"

"People are trying to kill me," Marcus rumbled dangerously. "I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

Gjalund weighed several things in his mind in that instant. Whoever the masked people were, they were scary enough to make him wash his hands of the whole ordeal. If they were dangerous enough to go after the Dragonborn, they would certainly be dangerous enough to retaliate on him, if they found out he was involved. He didn't want that.

On the other hand, the man standing in front of him was a living, breathing legend, who had already proven that he was more than a match for mere assassins. He had single-handedly taken out an ancient vampire lord, and destroyed Alduin, the World-Eater, thus saving Skyrim and Tamriel twice from obliteration. If he was powerful enough to do that – and Gjalund had no doubt at all that he was – then a few masked cultists would be nothing for him to rout out. Gjalund decided to take his chances with the Dragonborn.

The living, breathing legend was getting impatient, and looked as though he might decide to use a more physical form of persuasion. Gjalund put his hands up in surrender.

"Hold on, now," he forestalled. "I'm just a simple sailor. I never wanted to get mixed up in any of this." He blew out a sigh. He _really_ didn't want to go back to Solstheim, but it seemed he had no choice. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll take you. But we leave immediately."

"Suits me just fine," Marcus said evenly. He stowed his gear below decks after paying Captain Gjalund what seemed to be an inflated fee, and came back up to stand at the bow of the _Maiden_ as she slipped her moorings and made her way down the estuary of the White River where it joined the Sea of Ghosts.

The trip took over thirteen hours by ship, when Marcus knew he had flown the distance on Durnehviir in barely two. He could smell the ash in the air even before the Red Mountain loomed over the horizon, still belching out its noxious fumes. Indeed, the sailors were already pulling up masks to ward against breathing in the deadly particulate matter. Marcus wondered how the natives of Raven Rock survived it. He tied a scarf he'd brought with him around his own neck, bandana-style and pulled it up over his nose and mouth. It wouldn't help much, but he didn't intend to stay here long.

As the _Maiden_ pulled into port and slid up to the dock, a tall, angular Dunmer approached from the gate which led into Raven Rock proper. Marcus remembered him as the same elf who had lectured him and Enthir on his first trip here, two years previous, but he couldn't remember the mer's name.

"I don't recognize you," the Dunmer said to him coldly. "So I will assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. I am Second Councilor Adril Arano. State your intentions."

Marcus thought it best not to mention his previous visit in the company of Enthir. The Bosmer mage was apparently not welcome here in Solstheim.

"I'm looking for someone named Miraak," he replied. "Do you know him?"

The Second Councilor looked confused. "Miraak…" he frowned. "I…I'm not sure that I do." His face cleared, and the stern edge returned to his voice. "In any case, I would advise you to remember that Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws."

"I understand," Marcus assured him. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. I'm just looking for Miraak. Are you certain you don't know him?" It seemed to him that Solstheim wasn't that large, judging from his previous visit, perhaps a third of the size of Skyrim. In a place this small, _someone_ had to know who Miraak was.

"I…I'm unsure…" Second Councilor Arano hesitated. "I swear I know the name, but cannot place it."

"You don't seem so certain," Marcus insisted.

"I don't think I do," the Dunmer murmured, frowning deeply in concentration. "I'm not…the name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think. But I'm not sure what."

Marcus sighed. It was clear that was all he was going to get from the Second Councilor. "Well, thanks for your time," he said.

The Second Councilor appeared not to have heard him, as he began speaking to Captain Gjalund at once, arguing over the price of the supplies the _Northern Maiden_ had brought with her.

Marcus headed into town, passing by two guards at the gate, wearing the buff-colored armor he had seen on his last trip.

"What?" one of the guards asked, behind the closed helm. "You've never seen bonemold armor before?"

"No, not really," Marcus admitted. "What kind of metal is that?"

The guard laughed and took off his helmet. "It's not really metal," he said, handing it over to Marcus for a look. "It's made of layers and layers of bone and resin, with a few fitting pieces of iron here and there, and it's as tough as steel."

"I'll bet it's heavy," Marcus said, hefting the helmet.

The guard shrugged. "You get used to it. It doesn't weigh as much as solid steel, but it breathes better. That's really important here."

"I can imagine," Marcus smiled. "It must get stifling under those closed helmets."

Again, the guard shrugged. "Not as much as you might think. And I'd far rather have it on out there beyond the Bulwark than to be breathing in all that ash."

"You won't get an argument from me about that, my friend," Marcus grimaced. "I'm wondering how much I'll be able to take before I have to see a healer."

The guard frowned. "I'm afraid you might be out of luck there, friend," he said. "We don't have a healer in Raven Rock. You might be able to convince Elder Othreloth at the Temple to help you, though. He's a good mer."

"Thanks," Marcus said sincerely. "I'll keep it in mind."

"My name's Turon, by the way," the guard said. "Turon Areth. Anything you need, just ask. I'm here to help."

"Marcus of Whiterun," the Dragonborn replied, clasping wrists with the Dunmer. "Maybe you can tell me where I can find Miraak."

Turon's face went blank. "Miraak…." He mumbled. "Miraak…why do I know that name?" He shrugged. "I can't really remember…"

This was becoming stranger and stranger, Marcus thought. "Well, alright. But if I need help later, how will I know which one of the guards is you? No offense, but the armor makes you all look the same."

Turon laughed. "Yeah, we kind of lose our identities when in uniform. But I'll clue you in on a little secret." He pointed to his left shoulder pauldron. "We each carve our House symbols here. This is the symbol for House Telvanni. I may work for House Redoran now, but some of my ancestors were the greatest wizard-lords Morrowind has ever known."

Marcus peered closely at the swirls and curlicues that made up the symbol of House Telvanni and committed it to memory. He clasped wrists with Turon once more. "Thanks again, Turon. It's been great talking with you."

"My pleasure, Marcus of Whiterun. Stay safe." With that, Turon put his helmet back on and resumed his patrol.

Marcus made his way further into Raven Rock. On his last trip with Enthir he let the Bosmer mage take the lead, and they had entered from the other side of town, near the standing stone that was under some sort of restoration project. It took him several moments of wandering to get his bearings, but he finally remembered the layout of the small settlement which was Raven Rock and found the Retching Netch Cornerclub.

He was about to enter when a female voice called out above the bustle of the marketplace.

"Marcus? Marcus of Whiterun? Is that you?"

Turning, he saw a Bosmer woman with two curving streaks of green face paint carefully applied down either side of her face. She smiled as she approached him.

"It _is_ you!" she beamed. "I almost didn't recognize you with that cloth over your face, but you're the only person I've ever seen with that type of armor." Her voice was higher-pitched and lighter than Tamsyn's, or most of the Nord women he knew.

"Azura?" Marcus exclaimed, delighted. He pulled the cloth down. "Azura Frostfeather? Boy, am I glad to see you here! I thought I'd have to go all the way to Tel Mithryn to find you."

"I'm here with Master Neloth to get supplies," she explained. "Or rather, _I'm_ getting the supplies. _He's_ over at the Earth Stone watching the workers." Her tone shifted to exasperated acceptance.

"That doesn't sound very exciting."

"It's not, unless you take into account they're all enthralled," Azura replied.

"Enthralled?" Marcus exclaimed, horrified. "Why hasn't anyone put a stop to it?"

Azura shrugged. "Many have tried," she said, troubled. "I've tried. Divines know, I've tried. But nothing seems to break through. Master Neloth thinks it's fascinating. I think it's horrible. But you said you were looking for me. Why?"

Marcus looked around. "I'd rather not say out here in the open," he murmured. "Is there someplace we can go where we won't be overheard?"

"Hmm…" Azura mused, scrunching up her large brown eyes. "Master Neloth will be busy for a while yet. He gets that way when he's interested in something. I suppose we can go inside, where it's cooler, and get something to drink. We can talk there."

Marcus nodded, and opened the door for her, allowing her to precede him into the Retching Netch. She led the way down the stairs and chose a table for them at the back of the Cornerclub. Geldis Sadri came around the end of his counter and approached them.

"Miss Azura! A pleasure to see you again, I'm sure," he smiled. "What can I get you fine folks today?"

"I'd like one of your special sujammas, Geldis," Azura replied. She looked at Marcus and raised a finely arched brow.

"I prefer mead, if you have any," Marcus answered. "And a room, too. I'll be staying for a little while."

"Wonderful!" Geldis smiled broadly. "I've still got some of that Ashfire Mead they used to make over at Thirsk, before things went crazy over there. It's coming right up, and I'll bring your key with it."

He left, but returned shortly with their drinks and a key for Marcus. "Your room's down the corridor, there," he pointed. "First door on the left."

"Thanks," Marcus nodded, passing over the necessary coins. He took a sip of the mead. There was a familiar flavor in there, and it took him a moment to realize what it was.

"Juniper!" he exclaimed. "There's juniper in here!"

Geldis laughed. "Yep. Old Elmus used to make barrels of the stuff before they lost their mead hall to the rieklings. Sad business, that was." He returned to his bar, shaking his head.

Marcus turned back to Azura. "Rieklings?" he asked.

Azura shuddered. "Horrible, little blue goblin-like creatures," she replied. "They fascinate Master Neloth, because they seem to have their own language and social structure, but they can be very hostile, and will generally attack on sight."

"And they destroyed this mead hall?"

"Took it over, actually," Azura clarified. "They chased out the Nords who were living there and made it their own place. Some of the people here think it was the Nords' own fault; that they got lazy and deserved what happened to them."

"What do you think?"

Azura shrugged as she sipped her sujamma. "I think if the Nords want their mead hall back, they'll have to fight for it. Anything worth having is worth fighting for."

Marcus thought about it, and realized he agreed with her. "Did these Nords come from the village up there?" he asked. Enthir had told him about the Skaal, even if he'd neglected to mention the rieklings.

"From the Skaal?" Azura blinked. "No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "The Skaal are very quiet, simple folk who only wish to live close to nature, as their ancestors did. The Thirsk group are a boisterous bunch who love to brawl and fight."

"So, pretty much any present-day Nord," Marcus grinned.

Azura giggled. "Pretty much," she agreed, then sobered. "So tell me, Marcus of Whiterun: why were you looking for me?"

Marcus took a deep breath, then plunged into everything that had happened in the last few days, ending with his 'dream' – he carefully used that term – of being told to find her.

"And I'll bet you went to the Shrine of Azura first, didn't you?" the Bosmer girl winked.

Shamefaced, Marcus gulped and admitted he had.

"So, will you help me?" he pleaded. "I don't really know what else to do from here. Hermaeus Mora has my wife, and insists I come after her, but I don't know how."

Azura frowned, deep in thought. There was a lot Marcus of Whiterun wasn't telling her, of that much she was certain. She was generally a trusting soul, and more than willing to help people who truly needed it, but was reluctant to assist those who weren't being completely honest with her. She'd done that once already, and it had cost her dearly.

"I want to help you, Marcus," she began slowly. "I really do. But I have so many questions that aren't adding up to solid answers. I need to know more, if I'm to become involved in this."

"I understand," Marcus nodded. "I wouldn't expect you to risk your skills and talents, or even your life, for someone you don't know. Especially when going up against a Daedric Prince."

"Yes!" Azura exclaimed. "That's it, exactly! You see, I'm wondering what the Prince of Hidden Knowledge wants with your wife. He doesn't usually trouble ordinary people, which means she must be extraordinary. The Skaal here call him 'Herma-Mora', and tell tales of caution against him and his prying ways."

"Do they have any stories of how to beat him?"

"Beat a Daedric Prince?" Azura blinked. "No, you can't beat him. You can only attempt to outsmart him. It sounds to me like that's what your wife was trying to do when she opened that book of his. It's known as the Oghma Infinium, and is reputed to have been written by Xarxes himself."

Marcus felt an uncomfortable memory triggering. The four volumes which he and Dante Greyshadow had 'liberated' from the Mythic Dawn museum in Dawnstar were collectively known as the _Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes_. At least, that was what their former owner claimed. Dante had kept the books, and had also taken the scrap of paper which Silus Vesuius had insisted was an actual piece of the _Mysterium._ Marcus hadn't wanted them; he was only there to help pay back a debt of honor, and it had only reinforced his determination to have as little to do with the Daedra as possible.

"Who was Xarxes?" he asked now.

"He was the scribe of Auri-El," Azura explained. "He was known as the Ageless One, and kept track of all Aldmeri accomplishments from the beginning of time. Hermaeus Mora has claimed that all the knowledge Xarxes knew was given to him by Mora himself, and recorded in the Oghma Infinium. Reading it was said to give one great power, but the Book always vanished after being opened, and the power absorbed. It's very strange that didn't happen with your wife. There must be something different about her that Hermaeus Mora wants to find out."

"Let's just accept that there is and leave it at that, okay?" Marcus replied. "If you know, Hermaeus Mora might try to find out through you, and I don't want you to get hurt by helping me."

Azura smiled warmly at him. "That's very sweet of you, Marcus. I mean, I'm quite capable of looking after myself, but it's nice to know _someone_ is thinking about the potential risks. Divines know, no one else of my acquaintance has ever given it a second thought." She scowled as she said this, and Marcus instinctively knew it wasn't directed at him. He wondered if this was at the bottom of the friction between her and Enthir, but hesitated to open that can of worms. Perhaps when he knew her better.

"So do you have any ideas how to get her back?" he asked.

"Well, obviously you'll have to find a way to get into Apocrypha," Azura said. "That won't be easy. It's not like we could create a portal or open an Oblivion gate." She shuddered at the memories of the stories her parents had told her. She was too young to have actually been there. "Our best hope is to see if Master Neloth will let you borrow his Black Book."

"Black Book?" Marcus frowned. "What's that?"

Azura shuddered again. "Powerful artifacts tied to Hermaeus Mora," she explained. "As far as I know, there are six of them, and Master Neloth has one he keeps under lock and key. He doesn't have to worry about me sneaking peeks; it's Talvas he has to keep his eye on."

"Talvas? His apprentice?"

"Yes," Azura said sadly. "He's a good mer, and a talented conjurer, but Master Neloth doesn't see that. He only sees someone he can bully around, as he's done with…other residents of Tel Mithryn." There was a slight hesitation as she spoke; just the merest hitch in her voice, and Marcus knew she'd been on the receiving end.

"He doesn't sound like a very good master," Marcus said sourly.

"Oh, he's brilliant!" Azura swiftly rose to her Master's defense. "He knows more about magic than anyone I've ever met! It's just that he gets…focused on things, and doesn't realize how…harsh he can sometimes be."

"It doesn't sound very promising," Marcus mused. "I mean, him letting me look at his Black Book."

"We can only ask," Azura said. "The worst he'll say is 'no', and then we'll have to see if we can find one of the others."

"So, you'll come with me, then?" Marcus smiled, hope rising for the first time in days.

"Of course!" Azura answered, returning his smile. A wistful expression crossed her face so quickly he almost missed it. "It's time I struck out on my own, anyway. I've been cooped up in Tel Mithryn far too long. It's time to see something of the world and test my strengths. Let's go talk to Master Neloth."

They left the Netch, and Marcus followed Azura north out of Raven Rock to where the Earth Stone stood, encased in its wooden scaffolding. Several people, townsfolk as well as guardsmen, were continuing to work on the Stone, doing something unfathomable to it. Their chanting – which had unnerved Marcus two years previous – never stopped.

"And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world will cease to be…"

"What exactly are they doing?" Marcus asked Azura.

"I have no idea," she answered honestly. "Neither does Master Neloth. I think he's waiting to see what happens when they finish."

This didn't sound like a very well thought-out plan to Marcus. The words of the chant seemed to have taken on a more ominous tone since he had last heard them.

"There's Master Neloth over there," Azura said, pointing. Indeed, Marcus recognized the tall, spare, balding Dunmer even from this distance. As they approach, Neloth seemed to notice them for the first time, and addressed Marcus first, ignoring Azura, who attempted an introduction.

"Master Neloth, this is—"

"You there," the Dunmer mage said, pointing at Marcus, and cutting off his assistant. "You don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?"

It was as abrupt as it was rude, Marcus felt, and he sensed the tension and frustration emanating from his companion. Neloth, apparently, was clueless to this.

"I'm looking for information about someone named Miraak," Marcus said. "Do you know him?"

"Miraak….Miraak…" Neloth mused. "It sounds familiar, and yet I can't quite place…" His eyes widened. "Oh. Wait, I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years."

"You're sure of that?" Marcus demanded. He had suspected as much, but some things weren't adding up.

"Oh, yes, quite sure," Neloth said in a negligent manner.

"Then how could he be sending cultists out…" Marcus trailed off. He didn't want to say too much in front of the Master wizard, but Neloth seemed to piece together the unsaid.

"I'm not sure," Neloth admitted, "but it is fascinating, isn't it?"

'Fascinating' was not a word Marcus would have used to describe the situation.

"Perhaps it has some relation to what's going on here," Neloth continued, unconcerned. "Quite unexpected, really. I'm afraid I can't give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there."

It was more information than he had before, Marcus had to admit. Curiosity overcame him, however, and he nodded towards the Earth Stone.

"What exactly are they doing?" he asked.

"Building something, clearly," Neloth remarked drily. "And yet they don't seem to have much to say about it. I'm very interested to find out what happens when they finish."

"You're going to wait that long?" Marcus gaped, appalled. "That could take months! They were working on it when I was last here, two years ago! These people are enthralled. Can't you put a stop to it?"

"Certainly not!" Neloth exclaimed, shocked by the very idea. "Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out."

He seemed to notice Azura standing there quietly and turned to her. "Did you get the supplies?"

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Master Neloth. The supplies have been ordered. They will be delivered within the next couple of days, if all goes well. Varona will be there to receive them, as usual."

"Good," he replied shortly, already brushing past her to head back towards Raven Rock. "Well, then I think we're done here. Come along, Azura."

"I'm not going back with you."

Neloth stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly, he stared intensely at her.

"What did you say?"

Azura gulped quietly, but remained firm. "I said I'm not going back to Tel Mithryn. Marcus needs help, and I'm going to help him."

"You can't do that!" the Master wizard burst out. "You work for _me,_ Azura. You're my apprentice!"

" _Talvas_ is your apprentice!" Azura shot back, with a bit more fire and confidence in her voice. "My apprenticeship with you ended a century ago! I only stayed because I thought I was in love with you. I realize now it was just hero-worship because you were… _are_ …a very talented wizard, and I thought I could learn a lot from you. And I have. I've learned how cold-hearted and callous you can be. How unconcerned you are about other people's feelings. How unwilling you are to go out of your way to help people unless there's something in it for you, and how too willing you are to experiment on anyone stupid enough to listen to your excuses that it's all 'for the good of research.'"

She took a deep breath, ignoring the look of shock and bewilderment on the older mage's face. "Marcus needs help finding his wife, who was kidnapped by Hermaeus Mora himself. I'm going to help him, and you're _not_ going to stop me!"

This seemed to galvanize Neloth into some reaction. "Old Herma-Mora himself, eh? I wonder what's made him stoop to kidnapping? He usually doesn't bother with petty larceny, but…well…who knows why the Daedra do the things they do." He peered sharply at Marcus. "You'll need to find a Black Book, I assume, to enter Apocrypha. No doubt that's where he's detaining your wife. And you'll need to do it soon. The longer she stays in Apocrypha, the weaker her body will become."

"She was transparent when I saw her yesterday," Marcus said glumly.

"Hmm…yes…" Neloth nodded. "Technically, her body is still here, in Mundus. It's her mind Hermaeus Mora is holding prisoner. But why, I wonder? Perhaps this has something to do with Miraak, as well. No matter. I'll need to do some research into this. You should, too, young man. I'd head to the Temple of Miraak at the center of Solstheim, if I were you. Azura can go with you. You may find her useful. She's an accomplished mage. I'll look through my library and see what I can discover."

Marcus spared a glance at Azura, who was turning an unhealthy shade of dark red under the green war paint. Her face was a mask of repressed rage.

"Uh, Azura mentioned you already have a Black Book?" he hinted carefully.

"I do," Neloth nodded. "But it's not the one you need, trust me. It has nothing to do with Miraak. I might know where one is, but I'll have to check my facts when I get home. Azura, do try to keep him out of trouble, will you? This is fascinating!" He turned and left his former assistant spluttering in the dust.

"Why that – he just – _OHHHHH!"_ Azura turned and launched an Icy Spear at the nearest boulder, which shattered with an ear-splitting _crack!_

"He's a piece of work, isn't he?" Marcus commiserated.

"A hundred years I gave to that mer!" she railed. "A hundred years! And when I finally get the nerve up to tell him off for his indifference, he turns it around and _generously_ assigns me to help you! _Augh!"_

Another innocent boulder met the same fate as the first.

"I'm sorry he did that to you," Marcus said sincerely. "You didn't deserve it. Just know it's more a reflection of his personality than anything you've said or done."

"I should have done it sooner," the Bosmer mage scowled, before brightening a little. "But then, I wouldn't have been here to help you."

"Should we head to the Temple, then?" Marcus suggested.

"No, not right now," Azura said, shaking her head. "It's getting late, and it's not a good idea to travel the wastelands at night. We'll need to make preparations, too. I should see if Geldis has another room to rent."

"Alright," Marcus agreed, though he anxiously had the feeling time was slipping away. It had alarmed him no end when Neloth mentioned about Tamsyn getting weaker each day he delayed. "Let's head back to the Netch, then."

On the way back, Marcus looked around the marketplace. To his right was a smithy, where a burly Breton was hammering on his anvil. Near the Netch, a Dunmer was selling general goods, and near the city limits was an alchemist selling potions and ingredients. He bought all the healing and stamina potions she had.

"What, no magic restoratives?" Azura asked, puzzled.

Marcus shrugged. "I don't really do a lot of it," he explained. "That was more Tamsyn's – my wife's – area of expertise."

Azura stopped in the middle of the market place and gave him a searching look. "Marcus, you're going to be entering Hermaeus Mora's realm," she said quietly. "While your strength and skills with your weapons and armor is all very well and good, you really ought to consider improving your magic. It's something that perhaps Hermaeus Mora wouldn't expect from you."

There was solid logic behind the suggestion, he couldn't deny it.

"Tamsyn has always tried to teach me," he admitted. "Though to be honest, I seldom remember to use it in combat."

"You're an Imperial," Azura pointed out. "You're at least as good at magic – or have the potential to be – as any other race, Altmer and perhaps Breton notwithstanding."

Marcus knew from things Tamsyn had said that Bretons were born with an inherent resistance to magic; the Reachfolk had inherited this gift from the Breton side of their heritage.

"What makes the Altmer so good at it?" he asked.

"They have a deeper pool of magicka than any other race," Azura explained. "Sometimes it seems like they can just cast spells all day long while the rest of us have to stop and catch our breaths."

 _Good to know,_ Marcus thought. Making a decision, he said to Milore Ienth, "I'll take the magicka potions, too."

"Wonderful!" Milore beamed, and set about packing them for travel.

When his purchases were ready, Marcus and Azura headed back to the Retching Netch, where the Bosmer girl purchased a room for the next few nights.

"It will be nice to have you stay with us," Geldis gushed, giving her an appreciative look. He backed down, however, when the Dragonborn hovered protectively near.

When they had properly stowed their gear, Marcus and Azura rejoined in the common room.

"How much magic do you know?" Azura asked him, pointedly.

"Uh…" Marcus floundered. Just how much _did_ he know? "Well, I think I know some Novice-level stuff. Tamsyn taught me those."

"Details, Marcus, details!" Azura insisted. "I can't teach you if I don't know what you already know."

"Alright, alright," Marcus grumbled, "let me think. I can do Candlelight and Magelight, Bound Sword, Conjure Familiar, Flames, Frostbite and Sparks. I can also do Firebolt, Ice Spike and Lightning Bolt, though as I said, I don't do them often. I also know Clairvoyance, Calm, Muffle, Healing, Lesser Ward, which I hardly use at all, Fast Healing and Healing Hands."

"That's it?" Azura asked.

Marcus thought for a few seconds. "Yep, that's pretty much it."

Azura shook her head. "We've got a long way to go," she muttered.

For the rest of the evening, she put him through his paces with everything except his Destruction spells.

"You'll get enough practice with those once we leave Raven Rock," she explained. "And besides, I think Geldis would take a dim view of that kind of spell-casting in here."

"What about the other schools?" Marcus asked.

"Oh, he won't mind those," Azura smirked. "He's used to that sort of thing. We're mostly Dunmer and Bosmer here, after all."

She taught him three new spells, as well: Conjure Flame Atronach, Stoneflesh, and Close Wounds, which she had him cast again and again, pausing each time his magicka ran out to wait for it to recharge. Azura was a patient teacher, and this time, Marcus was a better student, knowing his wife's life was on the line. He could also feel, deep inside him, that small pool of magicka deepening and expanding just a little bit.

"Use the Close Wounds spell on yourself each morning," she advised. "Turn the healing inward and focus it on your lungs, to clear the ash from it. You'll breathe easier the rest of the day."

"Good to know," Marcus nodded. "I wondered how the people here managed with all that crap in the air."

"The Dunmer seem to have built up a natural resistance to it over the centuries," Azura explained. "Even I don't need to cast it every morning any more. Once or twice a week is good for me. But for the humans who live here in Raven Rock, it's a necessity. Even if they don't do much magic, they know this spell."

"You're sure?" he asked, grinning.

"Of course!" Azura said complacently. "I taught them." She grinned and ran him through his paces once more.

"I think that's enough for one night," Azura said finally, when they were the last two left in the common room. Even Geldis had drifted off to sleep in his chair behind his counter. "Let's get some sleep, and in the morning, we'll head out to the Temple."

"Sounds good to me," Marcus yawned, covering his mouth apologetically. "I'm exhausted."

They retired to their respective rooms, and Marcus didn't bother to get out of his armor. He tumbled across the bed and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

" _Here in my temple, here in my shrine, that you have forgotten. Here do you toil, that you might remember. Here you reclaim, what faithless minds have stolen. Far from yourself, I grow ever nearer to you. Your eyes once were blinded, now through me do you see. Your hands once idle, now through them do I speak. And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world will cease to be."_

* * *

The voice droned on in his head…insistent…purposeful…arrogant in its supremacy. He knew he must obey. The hammer fell under his hand. The wooden construction grew closer to completion. Soon it would be finished, and then…then…

Marcus shook his head. Then…what? He tore his mind from the relentless voice directing him. Looking around, he noticed he was at the Earth Stone. How had he gotten here? He felt exhausted. Looking down, he noticed the hammer in his hand for the first time and dropped it as though it were red-hot. What the hell had happened to him? Panicking, he looked around for Azura, but didn't see her anywhere.

Raven Rock was where it had always been, and he felt a vague sense of relief. The sun was just climbing into the ash-laden sky, and in disgust – with himself and his situation – Marcus turned and charged back into town. Only the guards were about, muttering about the goings-on at the Stone.

"It ain't right, it isn't," one said. "How are we supposed to protect Raven Rock while all that nonsense is going on?" He gestured back towards the Earth Stone.

"Veren woke up on the other side of Solstheim last week," another said. "He had no idea how he got there, either. Said he was headed for bed and woke up there. He must have walked all night."

"It's dark sorcery, it is," a third intoned. "I wonder if that wizard over at Tel Mithryn has anything to do with it. He keeps coming up here to look at the progress…"

Marcus didn't wait to hear any more. He entered the Retching Netch and looked around for Azura. She wasn't in the common room, so against his better judgment, he went to her room and pounded on her door.

"Azura!" he called. "Azura, are you in there?"

From behind the door came a faint, "Wha— Who— Marcus? What's going on?"

Blowing out a sigh of relief he hadn't known he been holding, Marcus waited for her to open the door.

"What time is it?" Azura asked, rubbing her eyes. "What's happened?"

Briefly he explained to her where he had just been, and what he had been doing.

"Oh, no! Not you, too!" she exclaimed.

"So it would seem," Marcus growled. "Was that Miraak's voice I heard?"

"It must have been," Azura said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Some of the people who have been enthralled reported they were obeying a voice, telling them what to do."

"We need to get to that Temple fast," Marcus insisted.

"I agree," Azura nodded. "Just let me get dressed and break my fast. We can be on our way in an hour or less."

It was less, actually. Azura seemed to feel the urgency as much as Marcus did, and bolted down her meal as fast as her companion. Marcus was also surprised to see her wearing heavy gauntlets and boots made from a pale blue stone or metal that seemed almost to be a form of solid ice. A sword of the same material hung at one side and a Daedric blade glowed a sinister red and black on the other hip. At her waist hung a strange mask that seemed both skeletal and insectoid at the same time.

Azura noticed his stare and smiled. "I might be a mage, but magicka runs out," she explained. "And the robes are nice, but a little additional protection never hurt anyone. As for the mask, I found it while exploring a ruin known as White Ridge Sanctum. My research tells me it once belonged to a Dragon Priest by the name of Dukaan, and I've found it helps to protect me from frost damage."

"Is that a risk here?" he asked, curious.

Azura nodded. "Sometimes the reavers will have a mage with them. Frost magic is prevalent here because of the ash spawn and ash hoppers that roam the wilderness. It's very effective against them. In addition, the few dragons I've come across here mostly breathe fire, so knowing top-level frost spells is a must. The mask doesn't help much against fire attacks, but that's what my spells and armor are for." She gave an impish grin, which he returned. He found himself liking Azura more and more. He felt Tamsyn would like her, too.

When they finished eating, Azura took the lead and showed him the way out of Raven Rock past the mine, set back into the hill.

"It used to produce ebony," she explained, "but there was an accident there shortly after I arrived in Solstheim, and the East Empire Company closed it."

"So it's abandoned?" Marcus asked.

"Not entirely. A descendent of one of the miners took it over and continues to try to eke out a living from it, but I'm afraid its days as the major employer of Raven Rock are long past."

They had no more than topped the hill when they were attacked. Fireballs exploded around them and Azura shrieked in anger. Firing off a wave of Ice Storm, followed by pin-point accurate Ice Spikes, Azura was the epitome of a fully-enraged Frost Mage.

Marcus searched carefully along the trajectory from which the fireballs had come and found two of the masked cultists hiding among the twisted scrub and tumbled boulders above them.

" _Laas yah niir,"_ he Whispered, and found a third hiding behind a clump of stunted pine trees. Slipping his bow off its holster, he carefully nocked an arrow and waited for the assassin to step out into the open. The bow and arrows were new, made of dragonbone, and were stronger even than ebony. When the cultist appeared, Marcus threaded the needle between the pines and hit the man squarely in the chest. He staggered, but didn't fall.

 _These bastards are tough,_ he thought to himself as the man loosed a fireball in his direction. Fortunately, his armor absorbed most of the damage. For the rest, he had a new ring Tamsyn had given him last year. It was the strongest she could enchant, with both frost and fire resistance laid on it.

Azura proved to be a formidable spellsword, sending a Frost Atronach against their opponents while lobbing Icy Spears at the two she could see from her angle. She began advancing up the hill, closer to their assailants. When one of the cultists broke cover and closed with her, she pulled her ice-blue sword and met him halfway. Trails of frost wisped from the blade as she slashed and parried the attacks.

The other two cultists were trying to flank Marcus and Azura, and while the Frost Atronach was closing on one, the other – the one Marcus had hit with his arrow – kept detonating a steady stream of Fireballs in their general area. Marcus was getting tired of feeling like a rotisserie chicken.

" _FO KRAH DIIN!"_ he thundered, and Azura squeaked in surprise, narrowing getting gutted for her distraction.

The cultist who was the recipient of Marcus' Shout, however, didn't need to worry about distractions any longer. His body slid down the hill toward the mine, where the Redoran guard were quickly gathering to see what was going on.

The Frost Atronach had pounded the second cultist into the ashes, and was now advancing on the third one from behind. But the tremors of its approach warned the assassin, who blocked Azura's attack while launching a Fireball behind him at the oncoming behemoth. Unable to withstand the intensity of the conflagration, the Atronach melted into the ground, and the cultist paused before returning to attack the mage in front of him.

Every muscle in his body seized up, however, when Marcus launched a Lightning Bolt in his direction. Azura finished him off with a sweep of her ice-blue blade.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed, wiping her brow. "That was quite a skirmish!" She turned to Marcus and beamed. "You see? Magic can come in very handy if used properly. You did very well."

Marcus shrugged, but felt unaccountably pleased at the praise. "It's something I'll have to get used to. By the way, what is that blue sword of yours made of?"

"Stahlrim," Azura said, holding it out for him to look at. "It's a sort of petrified ice. It doesn't melt, it's as hard as ebony, and is very difficult to make. Stahlrim is very rare. I found this in a barrow I was exploring. I call it 'Grave', because it's as cold as one. The other one…" Here she indicated the Daedric sword on her other hip. "This one I call 'Sting', because of its shock enhancement."

Marcus said nothing, but privately mused that her Sting looked a lot more intimidating than the one he remembered from a certain movie.

"So," Azura remarked in an undertone as the Redoran guard approached to take care of the bodies. Marcus had judiciously removed their incriminating letter. "Any idea why these guys attacked us?"

"Let's talk about it on the way, okay?" Marcus suggested quietly. "The day is wearing on, and the guard here have things well in hand."

"A moment, Marcus," one of the guards said, and removed his helmet. It was Turon. "I'm going to need to report this to Captain Veleth when he gets back. Something like this is much too big to be swept under the rug. Why did these men attack you?"

Marcus sighed. The last thing he wanted right now was to be tied up with red tape. Reluctantly, he pulled the letter from his belt pouch and showed it to Turon, who skimmed it quickly, then handed it back to Marcus.

"There's that name again," Turon whistled softly. "Miraak. Sounds like he's got a personal grudge against you for some reason."

"Yeah," Marcus muttered. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Well, speaking for Captain Veleth," Turon began as his men started to drag the bodies away. "I should probably suggest strongly that you get it sorted out before anyone in Raven Rock gets hurt because of it. Okay?"

"I'm working on it," Marcus promised.

"That's good enough for me," Turon nodded. "Take care of yourself, Marcus." He followed his men back down the hill.

"Whew!" Azura sighed. "I thought we'd be hauled into the Bulwark for questioning for sure!"

"Let's get moving," Marcus grumbled. "We've already lost a lot of time."

"What was in the note?" Azura asked.

"Here," he replied, handing it to her. She read it quickly and pursed her lips in a moue.

"So that's what this is about," she murmured. "This Miraak person thinks you're a fake!"

"That's what it looks like," Marcus scowled.

"Clearly he doesn't listen to the town criers or get the Imperial papers," Azura smirked, and Marcus chuckled, his good mood restored.

"I wonder if this is really Miraak, or just someone pretending to be him?" Azura mused out loud. "Master Neloth seemed to think it was unlikely to be the real Miraak, since he lived thousands of years ago."

"Stranger things have happened in my life," Marcus snorted.

Azura giggled, but sobered quickly. "In any case, we should stay alert. Cultists aren't the only things that roam the wastelands here, and we still have several miles to go before we reach the Temple."

"You lead the way," Marcus said. "You know Solstheim better than I do."

As they picked up their pace, he thought about what she had said about Miraak. Deep in his heart, he didn't believe Miraak was a poser. Hermaeus Mora had gloated over the possibility of having 'the First Dragonborn as well as the Last' under his sway. If Miraak was indeed the First Dragonborn, if he had somehow survived all these centuries, then why hadn't he shown himself before now? Why hadn't _he_ stepped up to kill Alduin? And what connection could there be between Miraak and Hermaeus Mora?

He shook his head. He had too many questions and not enough answers. Hopefully, he would learn more at the Temple of Miraak, and he pushed himself harder through the harsh, dusty, unforgiving landscape.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up, Marcus and Azura reach the Temple of Miraak, where construction seems to be going on here as well. But not everyone is enthralled, and the pair receive help from an unexpected ally.]_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The Temple of Miraak was a large ruin situated at the top of a rugged, ash-covered hill, with a long, sloping approach made easier by the stone stairs set into the hillside. Peaked stone arches were being restored at varying points along the circular wall which surrounded the interior Temple, and wooden scaffolding ringed the entire complex. At least a dozen dragon skeletons lay buried in the ash and snow all around the ruin. There were scores of workers here, as well, all with the same glassy-eyed look about them that had been a feature of the mindless drones from Raven Rock. And the chanting continued. Marcus shuddered inwardly.

"By my namesake!" Azura breathed, a worried frown on her face. "There weren't so many here the last time I came with Mast—with Neloth," she finished. It was telling that she refused to acknowledge the Dunmer wizard as her Master any longer.

"Looks like Miraak is stepping up his game," Marcus commented. "We aren't going to learn anything out here. Let's go in and see what's going on."

At the top of the stairs, however, Marcus was surprised to see that the interior was more of a stadium, with flights of steps leading down to the lowest level, which had a dome-shaped structure of filigree work. The arches were made of stone, and the filigree set above them were forged of iron and set into the framework. Within, under the dome, concentric rings carved into the stone circled another standing stone, similar to the one he had seen outside Raven Rock.

"That's the Tree Stone," Azura explained. "It's the one most sacred to the Skaal. It almost looks as though they're trying to cage it. But why?"

Marcus had no answer. His attention was caught by a woman in carved Nordic armor, running from one worker to another, attempting to pull them away from their mindless tasks.

"Oslaf!" she called to one man, scraping a draw knife across a plank of wood to smooth it. "Oslaf! You must fight against what is controlling you!" Oslaf did not respond. She approached another woman, lugging a basket of chipped stone over to a waste pile to dump it.

"Yrsa!" she pleaded. "Can you hear me? Yrsa, I'm here to help you!" Frantically, she called out to all the Nords she could see. "You must leave this place! It is not safe here! We must go back to the village!"

Grabbing one villager by the arm, she shook him, but he freed himself of her grasp and continued to work, chanting as he did so.

Helpless, the woman stood near the Tree stone. "You must listen to me!" she called. "We must leave this place!"

"Who is that?" Marcus asked Azura.

"I don't know," his companion replied. "I don't remember seeing her before."

"Let's go see what we can do to help," Marcus suggested, and headed down the steps. The woman saw them approach.

"You there!" she called warily, her hand resting near the hilt of her blade. "What brings you to this place? Why are you here?"

"My name is Marcus, of Whiterun," the Dragonborn replied, smiling to indicate he meant no harm. "And this is my friend, Azura. Who are you?"

"I'm Frea of the Skaal," the woman replied heavily. "I am here to either save my people, or avenge them."

"Avenge them?" Marcus blinked. "From what? This?" He gestured around.

"I am unsure what is happening," Frea admitted. "Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself."

Marcus nodded. He'd recently been the recipient of that possession himself.

"My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim," Frea continued. "But that is impossible. Miraak died thousands of years ago."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Marcus grumbled. "Miraak sent some of his cultist buddies to try and have me killed. They came all the way to Skyrim to try it."

Frea studied him before nodding in approval. "Obviously they didn't succeed," she commented with a wry smile. "It seems then that you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us in the Temple. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the Temple below."

"You're out here all by yourself?" Azura asked now.

"Aye," Frea said sadly. "There are few of us left unaffected by this curse. My father protects them in the Village." She touched a pendant hanging around her neck. "I fashioned an amulet to guard me against whatever has taken hold of the Skaal, but it is the only one of its kind. If I cannot find a way to save them, there is no hope for our people."

"We won't let that happen," Azura assured her, earning a warm smile of gratitude from the Nord woman.

"What do you know about Miraak?" Marcus asked, as Azura cast a Clairvoyance spell to try to find a way into the Temple.

"His story is as old as Solstheim itself," Frea explained. "He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did. He was a priest in their order. But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly."

"Really?" Marcus wondered. "How?"

"The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself," Frea continued, "and the dragons destroyed him for it."

"I've found the entrance!" Azura called from across the enclosure. "It's over he— _eek!"_

She yelped as part of the floor dropped smoothly away to reveal a ramp, through which a fireball came streaming out.

"Looks like we've got company," Marcus warned, and drew his blades, rushing forward.

"Disciples of Miraak!" Frea snarled. "You shall not ensnare my people any longer!" She charged ahead of Marcus and drew two war axes. One, Marcus noted, was made of Stahlrim; the other was uniquely carved with Nordic designs.

The battle was short and ugly, as Marcus and Frea closed with the cultists, inhibiting their ability to launch their spells. Azura remained behind them, pinpointing her targets with Ice Spikes, and casting healing spells on Frea and Marcus when they were finished.

"Let us hurry," Frea urged. "Perhaps the means of freeing my friends lies within." She headed for the door at the bottom of ramp where the cultists had emerged. Marcus and Azura followed.

Inside, a corridor carved into the stone of the hill led deeper into the bowels of the Temple. To the left and right, openings revealed rooms that must once have been used by the original followers of Miraak, or the dragon cult which preceded him. Marcus and the two women scavenged the rooms for anything useful before moving on.

Down a short flight of steps, two more cultists – who appeared to be looking for them – confronted them. The outcome for them wasn't any better than it had been for the two above. The draugr, however, were a different matter entirely. Marcus had never seen so many deathlords in one place before. Both Azura and Frea were sent sprawling from the Unrelenting Force Shout they used. Marcus lost his grip on Alduin's Bane at one point when one of the deathlords used the Disarm Shout. The scourges were tough, as well, using their ice-based spells to sap him of his stamina and summon atronachs against him. Marcus resorted to blasting them with his own firebolts until he could reclaim his sword. It was a completely different style of fighting than he was used to, but he realized the only way he would feel comfortable with magic would be to use it, so use it he did.

Azura fought bravely, using her spells to back up her fighting skills, which Marcus had to admit were quite good. Her fire-based spells, however, which would have been very useful in a situation like this, weren't as strong as Tamsyn's. She tended to use electricity instead.

Frea proved to be nearly as good as Marcus. Despite the heavy armor she wore, she whirled, feinted and dodged as nimble as a cat, and the keen edges of her war axes tore through the desiccated flesh of the draugr as easily as cutting through paper.

When all was silent once more, except for their heavy breathing and the flaring of healing spells, they rested and moved on.

So it went. Slowly, they made their way through Miraak's temple, fighting cultists and draugr at almost every turn, grateful to find potions when they could, and casting healing spells when they couldn't. At one point, while they rested, Frea filled Marcus in with what she knew of Miraak.

"Among my people we have legends about him," she offered. "Teaching stories to tell our children to guard against pride and greed. It was these traits, among others, that led Miraak to rebel against his dragon overlords."

"Was there any mention of him being Dragonborn?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Frea said. "He became known as the First Dragonborn. But he misused his power and tried to establish his own rule in Solstheim. The Skaal call him 'the Traitor'. He plotted against the dragons with Hermaeus Mora, who gave him the power to bend the will of dragons to his own purpose. There was another Dragon Priest, Vahlok the Jailor, whom we call 'the Guardian'. He discovered what Miraak was up to, and the two of them fought a duel so savage and vicious, it tore the island of Solstheim from the mainland of Skyrim."

"You mean they literally ripped the land apart?" Marcus asked skeptically.

"That's what the tales say," Frea insisted.

"And what happened to Vahlok and Miraak?" Marcus wondered, dubious. "Something that cataclysmic would certainly have destroyed both of them, I would think."

"The legends say that Vahlok defeated Miraak," Frea shrugged. "But just as he was going to deliver the killing blow, Hermaeus Mora appeared and snatched his Champion away. What happened to Miraak after that, no one knows. He was never heard from again. Until recently, that is," she added bitterly.

They pushed on, and eventually emerged onto a balcony overlooking a large room that had clearly been a torture chamber at some point in history.

Frea shuddered. "I do not wish to imagine the kinds of things that happened in this chamber," she murmured. "Who were the poor souls trapped in these cages? What tortures did they suffer at Miraak's hands? Was it in service to the dragons, or for his own purposes?"

"Try not to think about it," Azura advised kindly. "There's nothing we can do to help them now. It all happened too long ago."

"We can only try to prevent it from happening again," Marcus agreed. Their Skaal companion certainly seemed to be the brooding sort. Dwelling on the past was only useful if it prevented you from making the same mistakes all over again. Otherwise, it was frustratingly depressing for those around you.

Frea nodded soberly, but it was clear she was unhappy. They circled the upper level, and Marcus took note of the number of sarcophagi still unopened. He hadn't been in a barrow yet where at least some of them didn't bang open.

"Look up there!" Frea called out quietly, pointing. "I think I see something!"

Marcus looked where she pointed to see some kind of observation platform raised at one end of the room above the balcony level. From that height, whoever sat in the throne, placed at the edge of the platform, would be able to watch the torture proceedings below. A set of stairs ran up one side of the platform, but was broken near the top, and try as he might, Marcus couldn't jump high enough to grab the edge of the platform to pull himself up.

"I guess there's no way up, then," Azura said resignedly.

 _If Tamsyn were here she'd have no trouble getting up there,_ Marcus thought privately. Well, he didn't have her Ring of Flying, but perhaps something nearly as good. He noticed how one of the buttresses supporting the roof of the chamber sloped up close to the edge of the platform.

"I've got an idea," he told the two women. "Wait here."

It was the work of a few minutes to scramble onto the buttress and inch his way out over the chamber. He refused to look down. In spite of being able to ride a dragon, he had still never quite overcome his fear of heights.

The distance from the end of the buttress, as high as he could go, to the edge of the platform was still too great, and Marcus knew he'd never close the gap from a squatting position. He'd need a running long jump to make it, and that wasn't possible from here. But he wasn't the Dragonborn for nothing.

" _WULD!"_ he Shouted, and sprinted through the air to land safely on the platform. Azura cheered.

"What in the All-Maker's Name was _that?"_ Frea gasped.

"That was a Shout," Azura said smugly. "Marcus is Dragonborn."

"Truly?" Frea breathed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

On the platform above them, Marcus found a locked chest which took a few tries to find the "sweet spot," as Dante Greyshadow had called it, and get it open. Inside he found more gold, gems, potions, and a Nordic carved dagger with an enchantment on it. He didn't know what kind; he was still rusty on that sort of thing, but it was an elegant weapon and he carefully tucked it into the top of his boot.

From the platform, it was easier to jump down to the stairs and make his way down. Frea drew her sword as he approached.

"That's close enough!" she warned.

"Frea! What are you doing?" Azura exclaimed, even as Marcus rumbled, "Hey, what is this?"

"Azura tells me you're Dragonborn," Frea glared. "My village has already suffered at the hands of one Dragonborn. Are you just using me to hurt my people? I swear I'll kill you if you try anything!"

"Marcus is trying to help you!" Azura protested.

For his part, Marcus realized Frea was being entirely logical in not trusting him. She didn't know him; she'd only just met him, and he had showed up at a time when her people were hurting. Getting angry, or arguing with her, wouldn't resolve the situation. Instead, he smiled.

"I understand your feelings, Frea," he said gently. He threw all his persuasive powers into his voice. "I'd be suspicious, too, if a stranger suddenly showed up and offered to help just when your people are suffering the most. But in point of fact, I've been a victim, too. The cultists have come after me, trying to kill me." He pulled the letter he'd taken from one of them out of his belt pouch and handed it to Azura to pass to Frea. "Here, take a look at this." He privately hoped Frea could read. He wasn't sure.

Frea took the note from Azura and managed somehow to read it while keeping an eye on him. She relaxed and let the axes droop.

"So it's true, then," she said. "They really _are_ after you. And they think you're a false Dragonborn." She let out a sigh and sheathed her axes, handing the note back to him. "I don't know what to think," she said. "It's all too much for me. Perhaps my father can sort it out. For now, I'll trust you. We should keep moving. I don't like this place."

"I don't blame you there," Marcus grinned. "I'd even take the Soul Cairn over this."

Azura blinked. "You've been to the Soul Cairn?" she asked excitedly.

"Some other time, Azura," Marcus warned. "I'm not going into that right now." His Bosmer friend looked crestfallen, but she stifled her disappointment and followed Marcus and Frea.

The draugr attacked as they came around the perimeter of the chamber to reach the stairs that descended lower into the Temple. The commotion caught the attention of the cultists below, who rushed up to join the fight. Marcus found himself back-to-back with Azura, while Frea backed herself up against the wall to fight two of the cultists.

"I didn't realize helping you would be so exciting!" Azura called out.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!" Marcus shot back, blocking a blow from the deathlord in front of him. "I don't want to tell you how to fight, but fire would work better on these guys than ice."

"I know, I know!" Azura huffed exasperatedly. "I just never liked fire spells. Too uncontrolled, and they can easily cause collateral damage I don't want happening."

"I can appreciate that!" Marcus grunted, slicing through the scourge to his right with his Akaviri blade, Dragonbane. He'd been on the inadvertent receiving end of a few of Marcurio's spells.

Azura had Grave in her left hand and was alternately casting ice and shock spells with her right. One cultist was blown into a corner with the power of her Thunderbolt spell and lay there stunned. The draugr in front of her sought to take advantage of her distraction, but the Stahlrim blade blocked his efforts as Azura filled his face with a brief burst of Flames from her right hand.

"It doesn't mean that I _don't_ use them," Azura said smugly, as the draugr staggered back and she sent it back to the grave with her aptly-named blade.

Frea had taken out both cultists crowding her and now rushed down the flight of steps to deal with the one who was getting groggily to her feet. Electricity seized her, and she cried out, as the shock spell hit her.

"Vile deceivers!" the woman jeered. "Infidels! Lord Miraak will punish all unbelievers when he returns!"

"Miraak…is a…monster…" Frea gritted, forcing her body to respond in spite of the paralysis she was feeling. "He will never…enslave my…people again!" She advanced on the cultist, who backed nervously down the stairs. Her face was hidden beneath the tentacled mask, but it was clear she didn't expect anyone to withstand her arcane power.

Frea raised her axes. "Solstheim…will be…free!" she roared, and though she moved a fraction slower than she had moments before, the Nordic steel and Stahlrim blades did their work. She emerged at the top of the stairs a few moments later, rubbing her shoulders. She looked around. All was quiet. Marcus and Azura had dispatched the last two draugr deathlords, and were waiting for her.

"Are you alright?" Azura asked, healing energy already filling her hands.

"I'm fine," Frea nodded gruffly. "It looks like we have to go this way," she added, pointing down. She refused the Bosmer mage's offer of healing, however, and led the way back down the stairs.

"Did I say something wrong?" Azura asked Marcus quietly.

"No," Marcus murmured. "But I get the feeling she's very independent, and views the need for healing as a weakness. Still, if she's at death's door, knocking loudly, I want you to override her objections, okay? She's my best lead on finding Miraak and getting my wife back."

"Understood," Azura nodded.

There were more draugr after that, and more traps to avoid. When they came to a long corridor segmented with swinging blades, Frea squatted down to wait.

"It looks like there's a lever down there that might turn all of these off," she said. "But I'm not foolish enough to make the attempt. One of you can try."

Azura paled beneath her face-paint. "Uh…Marcus…?"

He grinned. "Relax, ladies. Sit and watch. I've got this." He turned to face the deadly swinging scythes and took a deep breath. _"FEIM ZII GRON!"_

Immediately, Marcus felt himself become insubstantial and took off at a dead run to reach the end of the corridor before the effects of the _thu'um_ wore off. There had been a time, not very long ago, when negotiating a trap of this magnitude would have seriously made him question his life choices. He remembered one in Shroud Hearth Barrow that had nearly ended the Dragonborn and his Housecarl Lydia before he ever really understood who he was. Before he had found all the Words to the Become Ethereal Shout, he had even attempted to use Whirlwind Sprint to get through some. But they had never been as long or as deadly as this one. Now, he had time to spare as he reached the lever and grabbed it.

And watched his hand pass through it.

 _Crap._

"Is something wrong, Marcus?" Azura called out to him.

"Uh…no…not really…" he demurred. "We just need to wait a minute or two." So much for his swaggering display of Dragonborn talents.

In a few minutes, however, he was solid again and able to throw the switch. The blades stopped and the ladies rejoined him. Azura's eyes were twinkling.

"That was…almost impressive," she said impishly.

"Gee, thanks," Marcus drawled, more than a little abashed.

"At least you're using your Dragonborn powers to help," Frea said kindly. "Miraak only used his to dominate."

Marcus returned her smile, slightly mollified. "Thanks, Frea," he responded, meaning it.

The chamber beyond the hall of swinging death was blocked by an iron gate with no discernable way to open it.

"Now what do we do?" Azura asked.

"There has to be a way through," Frea insisted, frustrated.

"There probably is," Marcus assured them. "We just have to find it. I've been in several of these old barrows, and there's usually a lever, or switch that has to be thrown or pulled. Let's look around and see if we can find one."

It took several minutes, but Azura found it in an alcove that had a barred window with a clear view of the gate. At Marcus' nod, she turned the switch, the gate opened, and they were able to continue.

"These ancient Nords certainly didn't have much imagination," Azura commented. "In Valenwood, the traps are frequently organic in nature."

"What does that mean?" Frea asked.

"Our trees walk around," Azura explained. "And we commune with them. We're very close to them. If I wanted to keep someone out of an area, I would simply tell my tree not to let them in. Master…I mean, _Neloth_ does something similar with his mushroom tower."

"The ancient Nords didn't have the ability to commune with trees the way the Bosmer do," Marcus felt obliged to point out. "They had to engineer mechanical traps and locks, because for the most part, they couldn't create them from magic, or convince the stone to work with them."

"Let's keep moving," Frea urged. "I feel that we're getting closer." It appeared to Marcus that she was uncomfortable talking about magic, for all that she was the shaman's daughter.

Not much further on, they were attacked once more by draugr and cultists. It was several minutes before silence fell once more in the Temple and they were able to resume their exploration. A large set of iron-clad double doors stood in their way, and Marcus cautiously opened one side and peered through. The corridor beyond was empty, and they all slipped in quickly.

He took the lead as they crossed a narrow, caged causeway suspended over a vast, open chamber below. Skeletons attacked them, but Marcus blew them away with Unrelenting Force. Beyond this was a crypt-like area partially caved in. The floor was uneven, and the path through it was obstructed by several large chunks of masonry which had fallen from the ceiling at some point in the dim past. There were draugr here, too, and a skirmish ensued.

Azura kept up a barrage of lightning bolts, and Marcus opted to keep a firebolt in his off hand while laying about him with Alduin's Bane. The result was a fight which took longer than Marcus liked, and was more strenuous than he felt was strictly necessary. It was such a vastly different style of fighting that he wasn't sure he wanted to continue with it, but Azura praised him when it was finished, and encouraged him to heal himself with a spell, rather than one of his potions.

"It's always better to use a spell for healing when you can," she advised him. "Potions can only cure just so much damage. A spell can bring you back to full health, if it's strong enough."

"So can a potion," Frea countered, "if it's strong enough."

"But eventually you will run out of potions," Azura pointed out. "And if you're not out of danger, you're stuck. At least with a spell, you'll regain your magicka and can cast it again and again, as needed."

Frea said nothing, and Marcus had to admit that Azura had a point. They pushed on.

The corridor they were in took a turn and descended, and they found themselves in the large, open chamber transversed by the caged bridge overhead, through which they had passed not long before. A room just off this chamber rewarded them with some gold and gems, a few much-needed potions, and two spellbooks.

"You can have these, Marcus," Azura told him, smiling. "I already know these spells."

"What are they?" he asked, accepting the books from her dubiously.

"Open them and see," she responded, eyes twinkling.

Not wanting to appear greedy, Marcus turned to Frea to offer the books to her. "Frea, did you want—"

"No," she said firmly. "The Skaal don't usually hold with magic. We use healing, of course, because that flows from the All-Maker. But those books are Alteration and Conjuration, from the icons on the covers. Alteration changes what the All-Maker has put in place. Conjuration brings things into being that never were; usually from some other plane or realm. I'll have no business with that, if you don't mind."

Marcus shrugged. "I understand," he told her. "I just wanted to give you the opportunity, if you wanted it."

"I don't," Frea replied, vigorously shaking her head. "But I thank you for thinking of me."

Marcus opened the Alteration book first. It never ceased to amaze him how the magic flowed from the book, into him, filling him with the knowledge of how to cast the spell and channel the energy, shaping and reforming it into the result he desired. In this instance, the spell gave him the knowledge of how to breathe underwater for a short time.

 _Well, that could come in handy!_ he thought, smirking to himself. The other book taught him to create a bow from pure energy, and he lost no time in attempting to cast it. Nothing happened, and he knew intuitively that his magicka pool wasn't deep enough yet to bring the Bound Bow into existence. He felt sorely disappointed, and said as much to Azura.

"Keep practicing your spells, then," she said kindly. "The more you practice, the deeper your magicka pool will grow."

The books, of course, vanished upon his reading and absorbing their knowledge. They returned to the main chamber, and were immediately set upon by cultists and draugr, lying in wait for them.

This time, instead of drawing his swords, Marcus took his cue from Azura and began targeting the draugr with firebolts as Frea leaped in to close with the cultists, who had put up warding shields of energy against Azura's spells. He had a clear shot at the five enemies approaching them, and blasted them with his Marked for Death Shout to soften them up. He noted with satisfaction that while the cultists' wards absorbed Azura's spells, they couldn't stop his _thu'um._

Using spells instead of weapons, however, put Marcus at a distinct disadvantage. The draugr were tougher than his firebolts, and his magicka depleted quickly. He found himself backed against a wall, with the two women too far away to help him against the deathlord bent on decapitating him. He attempted to dual-cast the firebolt, using both hands, but found that while it made the blast of fire stronger, it depleted his magicka much faster.

" _Bolog aaz, mal lir!"_ the deathlord grunted. _Beg for mercy, little worm._

" _Dovah dreh ni bolog, qeth najul,"_ Marcus retorted. _Dragons do not beg, bone sack._

The deathlord started, as if surprised to receive a response in a language none had spoken within the Temple for centuries. It hesitated, and as it did, Marcus followed through with his _thu'um._

" _YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

Fire streamed forth, immolating the draugr, and Marcus swiftly drew Alduin's Bane and shoved it through the deathlord's ribcage. It crumpled in a heap at Marcus' feet. He didn't spare it a glance as he hastened back to where Azura and Frea were still battling the cultists. Frea had taken out the other two draugr, and Azura had already dispatched one of the cultists. The one remaining was desperately attempting to backtrack up the corridor down which they had come in an attempt to escape. Marcus stepped up behind him.

"Going somewhere, Sparky?" he asked, noting the electricity crackling at the mage's fingertips. Lightning spells, he knew from Tamsyn, drained magicka. Most of his wife's traveling apparel included fortification against shock attacks.

"Miraak will destroy you all!" the man declared, his voice muffled behind the mask.

"He'll have to get past me first," Marcus growled. "Ironically, so will you."

In response, the cultist threw his strongest shock spell at Marcus, and while he felt his muscles tighten, and his response was slowed, as he felt the magicka being sapped from his core, Marcus knew he was still close enough to strike. The blade of dragonbone swung out, and the Dragonborn watched as the mage's head was separated from his shoulders, landing several feet away. The rest of the body slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"I don't mean to complain," Azura said wearily, "but I'm getting awfully tired of these guys."

"You and me both," Marcus agreed.

"We should keep moving," Frea said. "I keep feeling like we're getting closer."

"To what?" Azura asked.

"To the end of this barrow, for one thing," Frea answered. "Possibly closer to Miraak himself. It seems to me that the resistance is getting stronger."

 _Let's hope they don't get stronger than us,_ Marcus thought sourly. He led them around the perimeter of the chamber, pointing out the pressure plate along the way which would have dropped a swinging log aimed right at their heads. He'd stepped on those a few times himself. Only the strength of his Nordic-carved helmet had saved him from a crushed skull, but it left him dizzy and concussed until he swilled down a few healing potions. Since then, he had been very careful to avoid those distinctly-carved stones set so cleverly into the floor.

They hadn't gone much further on when Marcus heard a familiar sound. It had been a while since he'd heard the rhythmic, insistent chanting, and he eagerly hurried forward as the two women behind him scrambled to keep up.

"What is it?" Frea demanded. "Do you see something?"

"No," Marcus returned, "but I _hear_ it!"

"Hear what?" she insisted, as they emerged in a roughly circular room lined with sarcophagi. Above them, suspended from the ceiling, was the skeleton of a dragon. It wasn't a large dragon, but the fact that it was here should have triggered warning bells in Marcus' mind. As it was, he was too focused on the familiar, curved Word Wall to the left of the entrance to pay attention. Mesmerized, he approached it, but the Words, which he had come to learn, disturbed him.

" _All praise glorious Miraak,_

 _Most powerful servant of all_

 _Dragon Priests, whose strength was granted_

 _By the Gardener of Mankind."_

It was _mul,_ "strength," that lit up as he approached, that gave him the understanding of how to withstand attacks better, and how to deal out more damage in return. But the celebration of Miraak revealed within the text concerned him most.

He had no time to contemplate this, however, as the sarcophagi were blowing open, and several draugr stepped out. One was larger and more menacing than any he'd seen so far.

" _Dir volaan!"_ the deathlord coughed, heading straight for Frea. _Die intruder!_

She just managed to catch its battleaxe with her own blade as it descended, but the force of the blow pushed her to her knees. The deathlord laughed cruelly as it brought its blade up for a killing blow.

An ice spike sprouted between its glaring, baleful blue eyes, however, and it staggered, the blow never falling. Recovering too swiftly, however, it followed the trajectory of the spell back to its source: the Bosmer mage holding off a scourge with her Daedric sword, Sting.

" _FUS RO DAH!"_ the deathlord bellowed, and Azura was slammed into an open sarcophagus, slumping unconscious at the foot.

"Azura!" Frea gasped, coming to her feet. She swiftly struck out at the deathlord, who parried her attack as two other draugr closed in on her from behind.

Galvanized into action, Marcus launched a firebolt at one of the scourges while drawing Alduin's Bane with his free hand. Unable to check on the Bosmer mage for now, he threw himself into protecting Frea. If Azura was unconscious, the other draugr would most likely ignore her. It was the living, the moving, that held their attention. Most of the time, draugr were predictably stupid.

"Can you back out?" he called to Frea.

"Not easily," she grunted, unable to block a blow to her back.

"Alright, then," Marcus growled. "We'll have to do this the hard way."

" _SU GRAH DUN!"_ he Shouted, and immediately felt energy coursing through his limbs. While Elemental Fury would have been more effective if his blades hadn't been enchanted, it still nevertheless allowed him to hit faster, taking out the larger of the two scourges before the deathlord could react to this new threat.

" _ZUN HAAL VIIK!"_ the deathlord barked at him, and Marcus fumbled Alduin's Bane in his off-hand. The action gave the deathlord an opportunity to swing the huge ebony greataxe right at him, and Marcus – seeing it coming – hit the deck and allowed the axe to swish harmlessly through the air right where he had been. Now he was prone, and was forced to roll out of the way as the greataxe made a return visit.

Still prone, he swept out with Dragonbane, the electricity that enchanted the blade sending a shiver up the deathlord's spine. With his free hand, Marcus launched a firebolt squarely into the draugr's face. From his peripheral vision he saw Frea back away to deal with the last two scourges, leaving him free to concentrate on the boss.

The deathlord staggered back from the fire spell, giving Marcus a chance to get to his feet.

"Didn't like that, huh?" he grinned savagely. "How about a little fire, Scarecrow?" Quickly sheathing Dragonbane, he channeled his magicka into a rapid succession of firebolts, one right after the other. He had learned that dual-casting made them stronger, but depleted his magical energy too quickly, and he wanted to keep up a steady barrage.

The cacophony of explosions rang through the crypt as Marcus beat down the deathlord and kept him off-balance. When the tightness in his throat eased, he roared out his Fire Breath Shout and saw with satisfaction how it reduced the draugr to a charred cinder on the stone floor.

"I should have been doing this years ago," he gloated in satisfaction.

Frea had already dispatched the two scourges, and now they both knelt by Azura's side, patting her cheek and hoping for a response from her. Groggily, she opened her eyes.

"What did I miss?" she murmured. "And what's that awful smell?"

"Char-broiled draugr," Marcus chuckled in relief, while Frea exclaimed excitedly, "Marcus took out the big one with fire! I've never seen anything like it!"

"Really?" Azura blinked, a smile slowly spreading over her face. "You used your magic?"

"With a little help from my _thu'um,_ " he admitted honestly. "Now where did my sword go?"

Azura wasn't going to let him go easily.

"I wish I could have seen that!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet and firing off a healing spell.

"You might just get your chance," Marcus warned her, sobering. "We're not out of here yet."

They scoured the room to find another way ahead, but it seemed to be a dead end. Marcus found Alduin's Bane in a corner near an open sarcophagus and carefully wiped it with a bit of linen wrap before sheathing it. The dragon skeleton, looming over their heads, seemed to mock their efforts to divine the secret of the tomb.

Frea shuddered as she looked at the grisly trophy. "I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult," she said, "but to display the remains in such a manner as this… It is no wonder the dragons razed his temple to the ground. Seeing the remains hung up like trophies must have enraged them to no end."

"Have you found a way through yet?" Azura called out from the corner she was exploring.

"Not yet," Frea admitted, though she didn't look as though she was trying very hard to find a way.

"I've got an idea," Marcus offered. He frowned in concentration, then made the appropriate gesture with his left hand. A whirling, tumbling column of purplish-black mist spilled forth, heading directly toward the sarcophagus from which the draugr deathlord had stepped.

"Brilliant, Marcus!" Azura crowed. "That's the way through!"

"But that's a dead end!" Frea exclaimed.

"I don't think so," Marcus demurred. "I've seen something similar to this before. Let me take a closer look."

Sure enough, a moment's scrutiny revealed a catch release. He tripped it, and the back of the sarcophagus fell into a large room beyond.

"This is strange," Azura frowned. "It looks like a dining room."

Indeed, there were long stone tables and benches stretching across the center of the room. A doorway on the opposite side was in fact the opening of a long tunnel, which ended in another dining area. A kitchen-like area lay behind this. There appeared to be no other exits.

"Dead end?" Frea exclaimed, disappointed. "Impossible. There must be something more! Look around. I will let you know if I find anything in the dining area."

"Do you notice anything unusual in here, Marcus?" Azura asked after she left.

"Not particularly," he replied. "I've been in lots of barrows. This looks fairly common to me."

"The fire is lit," Azura pointed out. "The food here is fresh. And this alchemy lab," she waved at it, "has been used recently. Who would have done that?"

"Don't forget, the cultists have been using this place," he reminded her. "I'd be more concerned if the Temple was supposed to have been sealed and abandoned for centuries, and I found fresh food and lit fires."

Azura laughed nervously. "Well, I guess there _is_ that." She hovered close to Marcus, however, as they explored the kitchen area thoroughly.

In a dark, forgotten alcove they found a lever; when Azura threw it, they heard Frea call out from the dining area.

"That's it! I knew it! There's a part of the wall that just opened up here. Come on!"

Marcus and Azura hurried to join her, and they followed the tunnel into what must once have been a study area of some kind. The room was littered with ruined books that crumbled away at their touch.

"I wonder if there is something here that tells the story of Miraak…" she murmured, before giving an exclamation of disgust and brushing off her hands. "Nothing but ruined books," she frowned. "What a pity! The knowledge that was lost…"

Marcus nodded in agreement. It always saddened him when he encountered ruined books in the dungeons and caves that he had explored. It was one reason why he tried to salvage as many as he could, even if it was a book he already had. He kept the ones that were in the best condition and sold off the rest, "just to keep them in circulation," he would say. Tamsyn had never complained, because she was as enthusiastic about books as he was.

It was immediately apparent that the architecture in this section was different from the chambers they had just been through. Though still ancient-looking, there were places which looked alien in comparison with the familiar Nordic structures Marcus was used to seeing in this type of barrow. The statuary before had been the typical, stylized versions of dragons with which he was very familiar. The effigies here, however, were more sinister and snake-like, with rows of sharp teeth lining their maws.

"I do not recognize this statuary," Frea mused. "We passed by a few of them earlier, but they are becoming more frequent as we get further in. I do not like this place. It almost looks as if these statues will come to life at any moment."

They emerged in a round chamber with an iron grate in the floor, blocking entrance to a spiral staircase leading down. The lever which operated the grate was set prominently under a sculpture of a three-headed monster, similar to the others they had seen. Marcus felt certain they were meant to be dragons, but he had never seen any like these.

"It looks like there's only one way to go," Azura commented, giving the statue a wary look.

"I'll leave the honor of pulling that lever to you, Dragonborn," Frea said, quirking a smile. "I do not want to put my hand anywhere near the mouth of that statue!"

Marcus first thought was that they were being unnecessarily foolish. But on the heels of that came the caution that being in Skyrim for the last five years had taught him. Nothing was ever as easy as it seemed, and a little prudence now might save him a world of hurt later.

Masking his hesitance, he stepped over to the lever and examined it without touching. There didn't seem to be any kind of trap attached to it. The maws of the statue didn't have any holes for spikes or jets of flame to shoot forth. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the handle and threw it, then quickly stepped to one side. The iron grate in the floor separated and opened, allowing them access to the staircase.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," Azura laughed shakily.

"It's not doing my nerves any favors," Marcus admitted sheepishly. "Come on, ladies. It looks like we're heading downstairs." He led the way, Alduin's Bane in one hand, and a prepared firebolt in the other.

The stairs led down to a second chamber with another flight of stairs going down. The snake-like dragon sculptures were more prominent here, as well. The second staircase led them to a room with a central brazier, and a corridor leading away from them. The rooms beyond were empty, and Frea remarked softly, "It seems eerily quiet here. I do not think that will be the case the further we go. Be on your guard."

The last room ended in a blank wall, with a prominent lever nearby.

"I've got this one," Azura said, throwing it. The wall receded slightly, before lowering itself into the floor. There was a short tunnel beyond this that opened into a vast chamber. Wide flights of stairs led back up on the opposite side to a raised area nearly beyond their vision. Skeletons and draugr patrolled the steps.

"There are too many of them!" Frea hissed. "How can we fight that many?"

"With stealth and caution," Marcus assured her. "Hang back a bit. Stay hidden. Let me see if I can reduce their numbers."

He pulled his dragonbone bow from its sheath on his back and nocked an arrow. The skeleton closest to them was blown away, but the noise of the bones shattering alerted the other denizens. Marcus pulled back and waited for them to lose track of the threat.

Creeping out again, he inched closer to the next enemy, a draugr scourge prowling the first landing of the stairs. While he knew he would never be as good as Cicero or Brynjolf at sneaking, he nevertheless felt he had come a long way since his first year in Skyrim, when it seemed every enemy could hear him coming.

Still crouching, he let fly with his arrow, grinning in satisfaction upon seeing it lodge solidly in the creature's chest. It went down without a growl. The rest of the draugr and skeletons were too far away to hear.

A rustling behind him made him turn swiftly, arrow nocked in place. Azura had crept up behind him.

"Don't do that!" he hissed at her. "I almost shot you!"

"Thought you could use some assistance," she murmured. "I thought about using Muffle, but then I really _would_ have startled you."

"Where's Frea?" he demanded quietly.

"Over there," she gestured. The Nord warrior was creeping up the stairs on the right side to get closer to the next draugr. She had unsheathed her Nordic bow, and Marcus took a moment to appreciate its design and efficiency as she let fly with one of her own arrows. The draugr coughed as it staggered, however. She wasn't able to kill it with one-shot. The skeletons on the second tier of stairs rattled over to investigate.

"Spells?" Azura asked, flexing her fingers.

"I'd rather not bring the deathlords up there down on us too soon," Marcus said. "Let Frea and I pick them off quietly."

Nodding, Azura subsided and waited while her companions finished off the two draugr and skeletons that were making their way down the steps. The deathlords at the top of the stairs – and there were four of them, Marcus counted – seemed oblivious to the intrusion. Marcus preferred to keep it that way, at least for as long as possible.

Frea waved at him to get his attention, and motioned that she was going to move forward. He nodded and jerked his head to Azura. "Come on," he said, "we're moving up."

He was on top of the tripwire before he saw it, and by then it was too late. With a sickening _snick_ , the wire broke, and the deadfall of crushing rocks thudded onto the stairs and rumbled down at them. Like a scene out of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , the boulders came at him and Azura, and he picked her up bodily, Shouting _"FEIM ZII GRON!"_ as he did so. The stones rolled harmlessly through them, and Marcus moved further up the stairs to the next landing, setting Azura down.

"This feels weird!" she exclaimed. "But thank you for your quick thinking, Marcus! That would have been…unpleasant."

"Dragonborn! Azura!" Frea called. "Are you alright?"

Marcus cringed as the deathlords above them grunted in response. Their cover had been well and truly blown.

"We're fine," he called back. "Get ready. Deathlords on the way!"

Indeed, the first one to descend paused and bellowed his Unrelenting Force Shout down the stairs, but it passed harmlessly through Marcus and Azura, who were still insubstantial.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Azura chuckled.

"It gives me a chance to get in the middle of them," Marcus said. "Area of effect spells, Azura," he instructed. "I've got protection from fire and frost. Avoid shock if you can." He left her there, sputtering her protests as he sprinted up the stairs. The Shout would wear off too soon, he knew, and he needed to be close enough to do some major damage when it did.

As soon as the _thu'um_ faded he launched into his two-weapon style routine that he had perfected over the last few years. It was familiar, he was comfortable with it, and it gave him a chance to hit multiple targets at the same time. He used the Elemental Fury again to add speed to his attacks. With Azura lending her spells and Frea joining him in the hand-to-hand, they soon put down the last deathlord and surveyed the area at the top of the stairs. The chest behind the sarcophagus of the largest deathlord was filled with some much-needed potions, as well as other rewards which they packed away. A chain on the far wall opened a section and revealed a tunnel.

"I still don't feel like we're any closer to finding Miraak," Frea complained.

"I have a feeling we're not going to trip over him here," Marcus said.

"Then this has all been for nothing!" the Skaal woman cried. "My people are still enthralled! How are we going to free them?"

"Maybe this tunnel leads to this Miraak person," Azura offered. "And if not, I won't rest until we free the people of Solstheim from this curse."

Frea smiled at her gratefully, as Marcus led the way through the tunnel. It opened into a chamber unlike any they had ever seen. Filigreed ironwork covered the floor, which was set above some kind of strange liquid. A pedestal in the middle was carved in a disturbing resemblance of a bundle of tentacles, and over all this was the sound of some kind of echoing gurgling noise that had nothing to do with the liquid under their feet. On the pedestal lay a book, opened and waiting. The script on its pages twisted and writhed, hurting the eyes to look at it.

"There are dark magics at work here," Frea cautioned. "Ready yourself. This book…it seems wrong, somehow. And yet…not. It may be what we seek."

"That's a Black Book!" Azura exclaimed. "Neloth has one locked away at his tower. Be careful, Marcus. This thing belongs to Hermaeus Mora. It's a thing of Oblivion, not of Nirn."

"Hermaeus Mora has my wife," Marcus said. "She's trapped in his realm because she read one of his books. If this is the only way I can reach my wife, I have to try."

"I understand, Marcus," Azura replied, a worried frown on her brow. "And we'll watch your back on this side. Go with caution."

Marcus nodded his thanks and stepped up to the pedestal. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he grabbed the book as if to read it, but he never got the chance. Greenish-black tentacles erupted forth and speared him, yet caused no pain. He felt himself fading from the world around him and his vision darkened. The only thing he could hear was his heartbeat, and the pulsing of some other rhythm that didn't seem quite…human.

* * *

He returned to awareness lying on a stone floor. Above him it was open, but the sky was green. Twisted pillars clawed their way into the air, and in front of him was a large, stone tower, intricately carved and sculpted. Between him and the tower, several creatures with tentacled heads hovered above the ground, their tattered robes waving in a breeze that did not blow. They seemed to be waiting in attendance on a figure that stood with its back to him, just in front of…was that a _dragon?_ It certainly looked like one, but the head was not the horned, ridged, wedged-shaped head of Odahviing, Paarthurnax and others he had known. This one was serpentine, its lower jaw jutting out in front of the upper. It also seemed to be waiting for the robed figure to do something.

Marcus could see – now that his vision had cleared a little – that it was a man. At least, he thought it was a man. The mask that covered his face was similar to the ones the cultists wore, yet more…regal, if such a thing could be. His heavy boots were made of gold, as were his scaled gauntlets. Dragon teeth or horns adorned the epaulettes of his robes. He was an imposing figure.

"The time comes soon…" he was saying, but stopped and turned toward Marcus.

" _GOL HAH!"_ the man Shouted.

Marcus tried to get to his feet, but found he could not. Something held him pinned to the ground, or he was paralyzed. He couldn't tell which. There was a strong presence in his mind, overbearing his reason, forcing him to obey and remain compliant. He tried to open his mouth to Shout, but found to his alarm that he lacked the willpower to do so. Marcus suddenly knew, intuitively, that this could be none other than Miraak himself.

"Who are you to dare set foot here?" Miraak demanded. Marcus found he could at least speak. That much remained to him. He wanted to refuse to answer, but whatever that Shout had done to him, he found he was compelled to obey.

"I'm Marcus of Whiterun—" he began, but the other man cut him off.

"Ahh…" he murmured, almost in satisfaction. "You are Dragonborn. I can feel it. And yet…"

The man reached up and removed his mask. He was a Nord, Marcus thought, and yet…not. There were subtle differences in his features that denied a true Nord heritage.

"You're Atmoran!" Marcus exclaimed, realization sinking in. He knew from books he had read that Skyrim was invaded by the Atmorans in the Mythic Era. Their descendants settled in, intermarrying with the indigenous Nedic peoples to create the Nords as they existed today.

"Very observant of you," the man said, only a slight sneer in his voice. "And as you have probably already surmised, I am Miraak." He paused, and Marcus felt a superficial probing of his thoughts that he was helpless to keep out. "So," Miraak continued, slightly impressed. "You have slain Alduin. Well done." He shrugged. "I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth."

"Why didn't you?" Marcus asked. "You could have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble if you had."

"I chose a different path," Miraak said shortly. "You have no idea the true power a Dragonborn can wield, do you?" He paused, and as if to emphasize his point, he Shouted. _"MUL QAH DIIV!"_

Instantly he was wreathed in the fiery, transparent visage of a dragon, superimposed over his own figure. Marcus had only recognized _mul,_ as "strength", but without a dragon soul to unlock its deeper meaning, it might as well have meant "bread." Miraak, it was obvious, understood all three Words of this Shout, and Marcus had the sinking feeling he was way out of his league. He had always known, since coming to Skyrim, that being Dragonborn set him apart from others – dragons notwithstanding – but he had not felt this insignificant for a long time. Miraak was clearly in a class by himself.

"This realm is beyond you," Miraak sneered. "You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my Temple, and I can return home."

"What have you done with my wife?" Marcus managed to get out. "She's here, somewhere. Where is she?"

Miraak paused. "Your wife? So that's what's been keeping Hermaeus Mora busy. He has a new plaything. I should be grateful, I suppose. This distraction you have provided me has given me an opportunity to set things in motion without Mora's interference."

"I thought he was your ally," Marcus protested, straining to make his limbs respond.

"We had a falling out," Miraak replied in an off-hand manner. He turned to the creatures floating nearby. "Send him back where he came from. He can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel."

The ragged, tentacles creatures drifted over to him and began to pound him with percussive spells which he was helpless to resist. As he began to black out, Marcus saw Miraak mount the dragon and fly off. He lost his grip on reality and sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

"I think he's coming around now," Frea said, relief in her voice.

"Thank the Divines!" Azura breathed. "I thought we'd lost him for sure. Marcus!" she called to him. "Marcus, can you hear me?"

Marcus moaned and opened his eyes. He was on the floor, the Black Book still clutched in his hands. The chamber in which they'd found the Book swam in front of his eyes, and he shook his head to clear it, immediately regretting the action as his head pounded behind his temples.

"What happened to you?" Frea demanded anxiously. "You read the Book and then…it seemed as though you were not really here."

"We could see through you," Azura explained. "It was like a ghost of you."

Marcus took a deep breath and got unsteadily to his feet. "I'm not really sure where I was," he admitted, "but I saw Miraak."

"Where?" Frea asked eagerly. "Where is he? Can we reach him? Can we kill him?"

"I don't know," Marcus replied evenly. "I don't know, I'm not sure, and I don't think so. Not at the moment, anyway."

"I don't understand," Frea frowned.

"I think I do," Azura said. "The Black Book took Marcus to Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora's realm. It's the only way you can get there. As for killing Miraak…well, technically he's already dead, and has been for a few thousand years. I think a better question is, can we destroy his soul and keep him from returning?"

"I don't know the answer to that one any better than the others," Marcus frowned, "but while I was there I couldn't move. He…did something to me that prevented me from doing anything other than what _he_ decided. He told me he would be returning as soon as work on his Temple was finished, that he already controlled the minds of Solstheim's people."

"You were in _his_ realm, in the Black Book," Azura said thoughtfully. "He's been there in Apocrypha long enough that he's probably carved out a nice little niche for himself."

"This is a dangerous thing, then," Frea brooded, gesturing to the Book. "We should return to the Skaal Village and show this to my father. Perhaps Storn can make sense of what is going on."

"There seems to be some kind of spiral staircase going up," Azura pointed out, motioning to their left. "Let's see where it goes."

They looted the chest hidden in a dark corner and packed away the potions sitting on the tables at the side of the room before making the ascent. It was a long way up. Eventually, the stairs gave onto a tunnel that led to a twisting path out the side of the mountain. Marcus was never so glad to breathe fresh air once more. His brief time in Apocrypha had disturbed him more than he cared to admit, and he was terrified he might be too late to rescue Tamsyn.

"We're not far from the Wind Stone," Frea said as she led them down the path towards her village. "You can just see it over there. My people have been enthralled for almost a year, working on whatever blasphemous construction Miraak is forcing them to do."

"What about your village?" Azura asked. "Has Miraak made any moves against it?"

"I hope not," Frea said solemnly. "My father and some of the others have put up a magical barrier around the village to protect it, but they are weary, and there are too few of them. I only hope it is still standing."

They turned a bend in the path, and Frea cried out in relief. "It is still there! Thank the All-Maker! There's my father. Let us go talk with him!"

Despite the shimmering barrier encapsulating the village like a dome, they passed through it without effort. Marcus guessed the shield was specifically targeted at Miraak, and all others would be able to come and go as they pleased.

Frea headed directly to an older man, bundled up in a fur and leather hooded parka and leggings, seated at a small campfire in the middle of the village with four other people, all similarly garbed. A small part of Marcus' mind coveted the parka.

The five seated around the fire were deep in concentration, streams of magicka visibly pouring out of them, rising to form the shield around the village. It was a dangerously thin shield, and Marcus wondered if it would be enough, if Miraak decided to strike at this time.

As villages went, there wasn't much to the home of the Skaal. There was a smithy on a hill, not far from the mead hall. Another smaller house was nestled between the two. A butcher's area stood empty, the horker hung up for slaughter ignored for now. A handful of other structures – whether homes or businesses, Marcus couldn't tell – snugged around what would have been called a "village green," except here it was covered with snow packed by many feet. A chill wind swept down the mountain peak behind them, west of the village, and in spite of the warmth of his armor padding, Marcus felt it in his bones.

"Father!" Frea cried now. "I have returned. There is yet hope!"

"Frea!" her father, Storn, exclaimed. "What news do you bring? Is there a way to free our people?"

"No," she admitted, abashed. She keenly felt her failure in that single word. "But I have brought someone who has seen things. He has confirmed that Miraak is indeed behind the suffering of our people."

Storn sighed sadly. "I feared it would be so."

"How is that possible?" Azura asked. "After all this time?"

Storn shook his grayed head helplessly. "I fear there is too much we do not yet know."

Frea turned to Marcus. "Please," she begged. "Tell Storn what has happened." She moved next to her father and knelt down next to him, lending her spiritual energy to the barrier around them. It was the first sign of magic Marcus had seen her do. Frea had been holding out on them. Or perhaps she felt her magicka should be reserved for the protection of her people.

Storn ceased channeling his energy, now that his daughter had returned. He focused his attention on Marcus. "So," he sighed. "You have seen things, yes?" He gave another sigh, and Marcus could see he was bone-weary. "My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village. Time is short. Tell me what you know.

Marcus told the village elder everything that had happened that day, glossing over the fights with cultists and draugr, and focusing on the parts involving Miraak.

"You've _seen_ Miraak?" Storn challenged.

"Yes," Marcus replied. "I have. Miraak is the one behind what is happening to the people all over Solstheim."

"How do you know this?"

"We found a Black Book in Miraak's Temple," Marcus explained. "I opened the Book and was transported to where Miraak was, but he…he Shouted at me, and I couldn't do anything against him. It was like he sapped my willpower or something."

Storn nodded in contemplation. "The legends speak of that place," he told Marcus kindly. "Terrible battles fought at the Temple, dragons burning it to the ground in rage. They speak also of something worse than dragons buried within. Difficult to imagine, but if true…it means what I feared has come to pass."

"What do you mean?" Azura asked.

"Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned," Storn worried. "If you were able to go to this place and see him…are you like Miraak?" the old man asked suspiciously. "Are you Dragonborn?"

"I'm Dragonborn," Marcus nodded stiffly. "But I'm nothing like Miraak. I have no desire to rule the world. I've got too many other things going on at the moment, and this threat of Miraak returning is just one of them. I need to stop him."

"Then perhaps you are connected with him," Storn mused. "The old tales say that he, too, was Dragonborn."

"I already kind of had that figured out, when he Shouted at me," Marcus pointed out drily. "So what do you think it all means, both of us being Dragonborn?"

"I am unsure," Storn admitted. "It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction. But our time here is running out," he continued. "The few of us left free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer. You must go to Saering's Watch. Learn there the Word that Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone."

"On the Stone?" Marcus blinked. "Why? What will that do?"

"You may be able to break the hold on our people there," Storn explained, "and free them from control."

"Just what exactly is controlling them?" Azura wondered.

"Some dark influence wields power over them," said Storn. "It forces them to forget themselves and act against their nature. At first it was only during the night, but now every moment is spent building some strange shrine around the Wind Stone. I believe if the shrine can be destroyed, the Skaal will be free once more."

"But why go someplace to learn a Word of Power?" Marcus asked. "Why not just tear down the Shrine yourselves?"

"We are too few," Storn replied. "And those of us who are left must protect our homes, our children. They are not affected by this evil presence."

Marcus nodded soberly. He hadn't seen any children in the village, but that didn't mean they weren't hiding in some of the buildings.

"Miraak is behind what is happening to our village," Storn continued. "And so the knowledge he has gained as Dragonborn is at the heart of it. You are Dragonborn as well. You too can wield this power, perhaps to a better end."

Marcus couldn't deny the lure of learning another _thu'um_ was powerfully tempting.

"What do you know about Miraak?" he asked. If he had to go toe-to-toe with the man, every little bit of information he could learn might help.

Storn frowned in concentration. "Much of what was known has been lost to the ages. He was Dragonborn, and yet he served the Dragons as a priest in their order, highly esteemed and very powerful. Then he turned against them, becoming something they feared. He was defeated long ago, but it seems he was never destroyed."

"We'll go to Saering's Watch," Azura promised. "We'll find that Word, and come back to free the Wind Stone."

"If it works there," Marcus added, "we'll travel to the other Stones around Solstheim. If freeing one of them weakens Miraak, and makes it harder for him to return, freeing all of them might just take him down a few notches."

"Good luck to you, outlanders," Storn wished them, resuming his meditation to strengthen the barrier around them.

Marcus looked at Azura. "So, I'm assuming you know how to get to Saering's Watch?"

She grinned. "You're in luck. As it happens, I do know. It's a bit of a hike from here, though, and it's already evening. Did you want to sleep?"

Marcus shuddered. After what had happened last night, sleep was the last thing he wanted to do. Azura seemed to understand.

"The Skaal have their barrier up," she said. "I doubt that Miraak will make his move right now. You mentioned he said he would return when his Temple was finished?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged.

"From what we all saw, it will still be some time before that place is ready to receive him. You should at least try to get a couple hours of sleep. I'll stand watch, if you like. Let's go to the mead hall and you can find a bed to fall into."

Marcus allowed himself to be persuaded. Like Storn, he was bone-weary, especially after not getting much sleep the night before.

"Alright," he said, "we'll try it. I just don't want to wake up pounding stone again."

"Please tell me that's not a euphemism," Azura chuckled, giving him a wink, and Marcus laughed in spite of himself, assuring her no such double-entendre was meant.

He managed to get just two hours in before waking up to Azura shaking him.

"What's happening?" he asked her, instantly alert and reaching for his weapons.

"Nothing," she said, her brow knit with worry. "But you were tossing and turning and mumbling. I thought Miraak was trying to possess you again."

"I don't remember any of that," Marcus admitted. "Seems like I just laid down."

"Did you want to try for a couple more hours?" his Bosmer companion asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'll be alright. The sooner I find this Word and free the Stones, the better we can all sleep at night."

They packed up and headed out, with Azura leading the way. Their trail took them passed a spriggan grove, and the Matron came at them aggressively, forcing Marcus to kill her with fire. It was the most effective thing to use against spriggans. He regretted it, however. Had he known the grove was there, he would have suggested avoiding it.

"It's so hard to tell what they find to be sacred, though," Azura complained. "One place in Solstheim looks pretty much like another, especially in the lowlands to the south. Spriggans latch onto the most mysterious places."

Later, as they passed by a cave, Marcus pointed out the cluster of oddments gathered at the mouth.

"That's Benkongerike," Azura told him. She pronounced it _ben-KON-ge-RIK-ee._ "It's a warren of caves and ruins infested by rieklings. Most sane people stay out of there. The rieklings tend to keep to themselves, and usually don't cause much trouble unless people harass them."

"We'll steer clear, too, then," Marcus nodded, then stopped. The roar of a dragon could be heard above the whistling of the wind.

"A dragon!" Azura exclaimed, bringing ice and shock into her hands.

"We might not have to kill it right away," Marcus cautioned her. "I've been trying to work with dragons back in Skyrim. Let me talk to it first before we go barreling in there, spells a-blazing."

"You're the boss," Azura chuckled.

The dragon was a bit preoccupied for polite conversation, however. There were at least a half-dozen draugr wandering the ruins of Saering's Watch, shooting the dragon while it was airborne, and laying into it when it landed. A frost troll also seemed to have gotten involved in the scuffle, and the dragon was clearly getting the short end of the stick.

"Let's even the odds a bit," Marcus told Azura. "It might be grateful enough not to attack while I get the Word."

"I'll keep my spells handy, just in case, if you don't mind," Azura commented wryly.

The troll never stood a chance once Marcus and Azura entered the fray. Already injured by the dragon, a blast of fire from Marcus sent it spinning over the edge of the cliff to fall to the rocks below.

The draugr, on the other hand, were made of sterner stuff, and it was several minutes before Marcus and Azura…and the dragon…managed to take them all out.

" _Volaan!"_ the dragon roared at the man and the mer. _"Dir ko faaz!"_

"That doesn't sound like he appreciated our help," Azura said with a worried look.

"Uh…no," Marcus floundered. "Hold on a moment, let me talk to him." He confronted the dragon and switched to _dovahzul. "Pek! Helt!"_ he called out. _"Mu los ni volaan."_

"You speak the language of the _dov?"_ the dragon coughed. It was startled enough to revert to the common tongue.

"I do," Marcus replied. "I am Marcus, called Dragonborn. I came here to read the Words on the Wall, nothing more."

"I have heard of you Dragonborn," the dragon sneered, and Marcus felt his hackles rising at the tone of the dragon's voice. He didn't think his reputation had spread as far as Solstheim yet; at least, not among the _dov._ "My lord Miraak commands your death. It will be my pleasure to accommodate him."

 _Oh, crap._

"That didn't go very well!" Azura exclaimed, putting up a warding spell.

Miraak had gotten to the dragon first, while Marcus and Azura had taken the time to travel here. That the First Dragonborn had anticipated his coming here was disturbing. Or perhaps he had simply put all of Solstheim's dragons on alert. It didn't matter. It was time to defend himself.

The dragon was one of the serpentine kind he had seen in Apocrypha, and as such, was more limber and sinuous in the air. Marcus knew he had to keep it grounded.

" _JOOR ZAH FRUL!"_ he bellowed, and the dragon roared in dismay and surprise.

"What twisted words are these?" it demanded as it hit the ground. "I…I can _feel_ the ages bringing me down!"

"Just a little gift from the First Tongues," Marcus grinned. "Will you let us pass now?"

" _Niid, Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon insisted. "My orders come from a far superior leader of men than you."

"We'll see about that," Marcus gritted, as the dragon launched a fire breath directly at him. He saw Azura shooting off round after round of Icy Spears, and marveled at the Bosmer's well of magicka. She'd certainly been at it long enough, by her own admission.

When the dragon turned its head to direct a snap at the mage, Marcus sheathed Alduin's Bane and kept the Akaviri blade in one hand, while summoning his own Ice Spike in the other. "Fight's over here, Snakey," he jibed, scoring a direct hit right where the ridge horns would be on a Skyrim dragon.

Fuming, the snake-like head flexed around much quicker than Marcus anticipated and grabbed him in its maw.

 _Not again!_ Marcus thought as his limbs snapped around to the punishing shaking the dragon gave him before throwing him several feet away. He heard Azura scream his name, but he did not lose consciousness this time. The dragonbone armor was as tough as the donors who had given their lives to make it. He was bruised and battered, but still very much alive, and got painfully to his feet.

The dragon, having tossed his enemy aside, now made the mistake of ignoring him in favor of the softer, squishier mage on its other side. While Azura frantically peppered it with ice storms, dancing nimbly away from the lethal teeth, Marcus summoned his strength and ran up the dragon's tail, across its back and settled between its shoulders. He stabbed downward repeatedly with the Akaviri blade, feeling it slice through muscles and tendons as a hot knife does through butter. The dragon screamed and attempted to throw him off, but Marcus had a firm grip on the neck ridge and refused to budge. Again and again he struck downward with the Blades sword, and with a sudden shudder, the dragon settled into the snow, to move no more.

Marcus leaped lightly down as Azura came running up to him.

"I thought you were dead!" she exclaimed as the dragon ignited, but Marcus didn't get the chance to respond as he waited for the soul to flare into him. A muffled explosion nearby made them turn their heads to see Miraak standing not far away. The dragon's soul flew to _him,_ instead of into Marcus.

"Not this time, Dragonborn," sneered Miraak. "This one's mine." He laughed cruelly. "Thank you for your help. We will meet again soon."

" _You sonofabitch!"_ Marcus roared, drawing both swords and advancing on Miraak, who stood unconcerned as he absorbed the dragon's soul.

Futilely, Marcus slashed through Miraak, and realized quickly that the First Dragonborn wasn't even there. Helplessly, he sheathed his swords, fuming and flexing his fists as the last shreds of the dragon soul sank into Miraak's aspect before, with another muffled explosion, he disappeared.

The next several minutes were spent with the Dragonborn filling the air with every swear word he had ever heard, which included calling Miraak's parentage into question, and accusing him of loving his mother too much.

When he finally calmed down, Azura offered tentatively, "So, I take it that was Miraak?"

Marcus gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak.

"Do you feel better for ranting?"

"No," he ground out.

"Let's get the Word, then," Azura suggested. "It's almost morning. If we can free the Stones today, you'll at least have struck a blow back against him. He'll be that much weaker."

Marcus nodded morosely. "I'll still need a dragon soul to unlock its deeper meaning," he said, making a huge effort to calm down. "If Miraak's going to take the soul of every dragon I kill, we're screwed."

"I'm going assume that means the odds are against us," Azura said. "But I don't think he'll take _every_ soul," she went on. "It must have taken him an enormous amount of power to manifest an aspect of himself here in Nirn, outside of Hermaeus Mora's realm. He wasn't even here in the flesh. So I'm thinking, if we found another dragon fairly quickly, we could kill it, and you might be able to absorb its soul before Miraak can recover."

Marcus managed a smile. "Thanks, Azura," he said sincerely. "That's actually a good idea. Have you got any idea where we might find a dragon? They're not exactly listed in the Yellow Pages."

"Okay, that one went over my head," Azura blinked. "You're a strange man, Marcus Dragonborn."

"You have no idea," he chuckled, humor restored once more.

"But as it happens, I do know that a dragon has been hovering near the Water Stone, on the western coast of Solstheim. It's been terrorizing the miners at Damphall Mine. Though with Miraak on the rise, those miners have been enthralled to work on the construction going on at the Stone."

"Alright," Marcus agreed. "Let me read the Wall up there, and then we'll head to the Water Stone. If we have to, we'll make a circuit of Solstheim and cleanse the Stones, and end up back at the Skaal Village. Do you think we can get it done in a day?"

Azura shook her head. "No, it will probably take two days, maybe a little more."

Marcus felt his heart drop. Two more days of Tamsyn being stuck in Apocrypha, while her body in Nirn grew weaker and weaker. He felt time pressing, but had no idea how he could push things to move faster.

 _One thing at a time, Dragonborn,_ he told himself. _One step has to lead to the next. It's all you can do._

He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: I have successfully gotten past my writer's block on this, and hope to have the next chapter up soon. I make no promises, as working retail is playing havoc with my free time. Thanks for staying with me.]_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tamsyn knew where she was, of course. She had played _Skyrim_ long enough to know that much. What she could not figure out was how she had gotten here. Reading the _Oghma Infinium_ was _not_ supposed to transport her to Apocrypha. Someone was cheating, and she had a pretty good idea who. It was something that had terrified her ever since she had helped Septimus Signus create the panoply of faux-Dwemer blood that would help him unlock the dwarven safe that had puzzled him for half a century. She knew what lay within, of course, but couldn't tell Septimus that. He would never have believed her. She also knew that by helping him, she would be responsible for his death.

She tried to assuage her conscience that it was really Hermaeus Mora who killed Septimus, but deep in her heart she knew that was a lie. She could have ignored the quest entirely, and let the old scholar die of natural causes. But that would not have opened the lockbox and revealed the _Oghma._ Gods help her, she wanted the _Oghma._ She knew what it would do for the character she played in the game. Now, in the realm of Nirn itself, she wanted to know what power it would give her, Tamsyn, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.

But she had held off. When Septimus died, reduced to ashes by the whim of Hermaeus Mora – who praised her and called her his Champion – Tamsyn recoiled, horrified and filled with self-loathing. What would Marcus have thought of her? She knew the answer to that, as well. He would have pulled away from her, disgusted that she could be so mercenary, so callous towards another human being.

So she had locked the _Oghma Infinium_ away, and kept it safely stored in a chest in her quarters at the College, out of sight, and out of mind. Until a few days ago, when the temptation to open it had finally become too great to resist. Even as she remembered Julia crying, she tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with the Daedric artifact. She knew she was still lying to herself. She insisted to herself that she was only looking for a way to defeat the Thalmor, but that was false, as well.

The moment she opened the _Oghma,_ blackish-green appendages reached out, speared her and drew her in. Well, her mind, at any rate; she was fairly certain her body was still in Nirn.

 _You have well and truly screwed yourself over, Tamsyn,_ she thought, worried beyond reason. _You have played right into Mora's tentacles._

Indeed, it wasn't very long before the Prince of Secret Knowledge sought her out.

" _My Champion,"_ he crooned. _"You have come to me at last…as I knew you would."_ A tentacle reached out to caress her, but she flinched back.

"I told you before, Mora," Tamsyn retorted, with as much bravado as she could muster, "I am not now, nor will I ever be your Champion."

" _That…is where you are wrong, Arch-Mage,"_ the Daedric Prince said smugly. _"The very act of your coming here…suggests to me that you seek…knowledge. Knowledge that I can provide to you…at a price, of course."_

"That doesn't mean I'm going to do your dirty work in Nirn," Tamsyn fired back.

" _Again…you are wrong,"_ Mora purred. _"What I want…you are already providing."_

Tamsyn blinked. She hadn't done anything yet. "I'm not following you," she said slowly. "What do you mean?"

" _The Last Dragonborn seeks to reclaim his wife,"_ said the Master of Hidden Knowledge. _"You have very successfully…delivered him to me. You both have secrets…secrets you will share with me…or you will never return to Nirn."_

Tamsyn felt her stomach drop. Marcus! She hadn't counted on that. She knew her husband too well to think he would sit idly by and wait for her to return, especially if he knew she was trapped in Apocrypha. She had been out-maneuvered by Hermaeus Mora.

"So that's why you cheated," she accused, eyes flashing dangerously. "The _Oghma Infinium_ was never supposed to work like your Black Books do."

" _And just how…would you know this?"_ Mora drawled, scores of eyes piercing her like a knife.

 _Oops…_ Tamsyn floundered. She'd almost said too much. Quickly she back-pedaled.

"It's never done that to anyone else before, in recorded history," she said hastily. "Had I known you would kidnap me through it, I never would have opened it."

A deep, sinister chuckle came from within the swarm of eyes and snake-like limbs. _"Liar,"_ Mora whispered. _"The lure of secret knowledge…was too great for you to resist."_ If the Prince had had a mouth, it would be smirking at this moment. _"I may not know…what is in your mind…but I certainly know what is in…your heart."_

As if bored with the conversation, Mora began to fade from view.

" _I suggest you make yourself…comfortable,"_ he advised. _"You may find your stay here…indefinite."_

He vanished, leaving Tamsyn alone with thoughts that gave her no comfort. Marcus _would_ find a way here, of that she had no doubt. She knew the quest well enough to know what he would have to face in the process. She would have spared him this, if she could have.

 _Why, Tamsyn, WHY?_ she berated herself. _Why did you have to open that stupid book?_

Because Hermaeus Mora was right, she answered herself. Because she _had_ been hoping to find some secret, hidden knowledge that would have helped tip the scales in their favor, in their fight against the Dominion. Ever since leaving the former Thalmor Justiciar, Sylfaen Telperion, in the Forgotten Vale with Knight-Paladin Gelebor, she had remained in contact with the Snow Elves, learning spells that had once been widely known, but had long since disappeared from Tamriel. The Dominion was partly responsible for this loss, hiding the magic away, and discouraging other races from practicing.

Her father, Julianos, had begged her while she was still in Sovngarde with Marcus to find out what had happened to magic, and to bring it back again. She had learned much from her friend Sylfaen, but felt there was still more out there to be discovered. It was for this reason, more than any other, that she had finally succumbed to the lure of the _Oghma Infinium_ , and made the decision to open the book.

Winding up in Apocrypha had definitely _not_ crossed her mind as a possibility. The literal last thing Tamsyn wanted to do was place herself under his power, and now she had gone and done just that.

It wasn't so much a fear of Mora finding out she was from Gaea, rather than Nirn; or for that matter, that Marcus was also an out-worlder by birth. The Daedric Prince could do nothing with information about other worlds. He was a creature of this realm, and could have little effect on other alternate realities. No, Tamsyn had a much greater concern: what would he do, she shuddered, if he knew that she was the daughter of one of the Aedra? She felt confident she could keep him out of her mind, for a while anyway. But he might learn it from Marcus, now that her husband was involved.

 _Marcus, my love, I'm so sorry!_ she despaired.

Tamsyn gave herself over to several minutes of hopelessness before she rallied. Hermaeus Mora hadn't won yet. This was Apocrypha, after all, a repository of all knowledge, lost and found. There had to be something here that could help her find her way out. Looking around, she attempted to figure out where she was.

The green pall that hung over everything robbed the bright colors from the landscape. The inky black waters, she knew from the game, would send her character back to the 'real' world; in this reality, however, she had a very strong suspicion that Mora would not let her escape that easily, and she might, in fact, actually die if she tried that route. So she avoided the edges of the filigreed lattice-work paths, and the tentacles that came out periodically to snap at her.

Somewhere around here were Seekers and Lurkers, Tamsyn knew. She could hear them thrumming and chittering to each other as they continued their never-ending research. Some scholars suggested that Seekers had once been ordinary souls like her, seeking knowledge, and paying the ultimate price when they found themselves unable to escape Apocrypha. Tamsyn shuddered. The same fate might be hers if she found herself stuck here. She would have to avoid them if she could, and fight them when she couldn't. In the end, it was only a matter of time before she found the way out…she hoped.

* * *

Colette Marence pursed her lips and frowned. Tolfdir might very well be Master Wizard, and second in command only to the Arch-Mage herself, but he was singularly unimaginative when it came to Restoration. _Like everyone else around here,_ she thought sourly to herself. Anyone with half an eye could see that the Arch-Mage, Tamsyn, was weakening, and yet no one was doing anything to slow the process, or bring her back to full health.

Yes, her mind was trapped in Apocrypha, that much was certain. She, Colette, hadn't been there when it happened, but word travelled quickly through the faculty. The Masters were instructed by Enthir not to let the students learn of this unfortunate occurrence, but only because they hoped to be able to bring the Arch-Mage back quickly. Colette could see already that that wasn't going to happen.

She had approached the Master Wizard, but he advised caution before attempting anything that would put the young Breton mage at risk.

"The Dragonborn is working on the problem," Tolfdir told her. "We must trust that he can find a way to bring her back before it's too late."

"That's just what I'm talking about!" Colette snapped in frustration. "Why won't anyone listen to me?"

"We don't want to bring the wrath of Hermaeus Mora down on the College, Colette," Enthir explained patiently. "Sergius is trying to find a way to break the enchantment—"

"And in the meantime, that bright young girl gets weaker and weaker!" Colette argued.

"We must be patient," Tolfdir soothed. "These things take time—"

"Time the Arch-Mage doesn't have," Colette pointed out. "Oh! There's no use in talking to any of you! I'd get faster results from talking to a stone wall!" She stormed out, still fuming. "Just because _my_ School isn't as respected as _theirs_ , isn't as _'useful'_ as theirs!" she grumbled. It was enough to make her want to give up.

But she knew she wouldn't, and for a number of reasons. Firstly, that the Arch-Mage, Tamsyn, was one of the first students in a long time to apply herself to the study of Restoration. She had risen quickly through the ranks, achieving her Master levels in near-record time. Her knowledge even surpassed Colette's! The only one who had ever exceeded the Arch-Mage was the Auger of Dunlaine.

Colette was very fond of Tamsyn on a personal level as well. The young woman was a Breton, like herself, though she admitted she had never been to High Rock. She had always treated Colette with respect and dignity, and had put her in charge of periodic trips to Bthardamz, Mzulft and Blackreach to train the recruits there. It was a serious responsibility, and Colette was determined not to let the Arch-Mage down.

And now Tamsyn was trapped in Apocrypha, at the mercy of not only Hermaeus Mora, but also a bunch of stodgy old men and mer too afraid to upset the apple cart to make any effort to sustain the Arch-Mage's body, which – though transparent – was still very much here in this realm.

Colette knew she could pour her magicka into healing spells and keep the Arch-Mage alive for a while, but she was only one person, and the rest of the faculty weren't nearly as skilled as she was in Restoration.

Suddenly the Breton Master halted, halfway down the stairs. Something that had passed through her mind a moment ago gave her inspiration, and she picked up her pace, hurrying down to the foyer of the Hall of Elements and out the door into the crisp, cold air of Winterhold. She quickened her pace and headed for a little-used corner of the courtyard, and an insignificant hatchway built into the stone walkway.

Climbing gingerly down the ladder, Colette paused a moment to get her bearings. She didn't often come down here, and when she did, she used the access from the Hall of Countenance. She let her eyes adjust to the gloom slightly before firing off a Candlelight spell to light her way.

The Midden was still a dark, dank place, even while many experiments were conducted down here. It was deliberately kept that way to mislead any Thalmor advisors who might try poking around. Thank goodness they had finally gotten rid of Illarion. He hadn't been as offensive as his predecessor, Ancano, but he was still a Thalmor, and Colette hated them on principle.

Making her way more quickly now, as the route she needed became more familiar, Colette passed by the Atronach Forge, where some students were summoning Flame and Frost Atronachs to battle, to practice their Destruction magic. Faralda was standing nearby, observing, and she nodded cordially to Colette before realizing who she was seeing.

"Colette!" Faralda exclaimed, doing a double-take. "I never expected to see you down here! Is something wrong?"

"No," the Breton mage answered. "But I'm in a hurry. I'll talk to you later!" She strode purposefully past the curious Altmer Master, but with her students there, Faralda was unable to follow her colleague.

Colette navigated the twisting, turning corridors that led to the Midden Dark and a simple iron door set into the stone wall.

" _Ah,"_ came a deep, resonant voice from behind the door. _"I have been expecting you, Master Colette. But why come to me, when you know in your heart what you must do?"_

Most people would be intimidated by the voice. It suggested neither rejection nor welcome, but seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Colette, however, was not intimidated.

"Are you going to leave me standing outside your door while we talk?" she demanded.

A low, throaty chuckle escaped the room behind the door. _"You have not changed, Colette,"_ it said. _"Not in all the years I have known you. Very well. You may enter."_

A soft clicking noise was heard, and the door opened of its own accord. Inside the round room, an amorphous ball of blue-white energy hovered over an empty magicka well. The illumination from the energy that was the Auger of Dunlaine cast rippling shadows around the room as the light pulsed.

" _Why have you come here, Colette?"_ the Auger asked again.

"You should know," the Restoration Master said pertly. "Aren't you supposed to be all-knowing?"

" _There are few people in this world from whom I would accept a statement of that kind,"_ said the Auger drily. _"Both of them are Breton women, with whom I have learned from long experience it would be futile to argue."_

"We are old friends, Tiernan," Colette said softly. "I don't think anyone else knows your real name but me."

" _You would be wrong,"_ the Auger replied. _"She knows it now, as well."_

"Really?" Colette blinked, surprised. "Well, then since you know why I'm here, at least tell me if such a plan would work. Or are we doomed to lose the best Arch-Mage we've had at Winterhold since I can remember?"

There was silence for only a brief moment, as the Auger seemed to weigh the benefits or consequences of revealing too much of a future always in flux. _"Your plan is too limited,"_ he said finally. _"You are on the right path, but it will take more magicka than you possess to sustain the Arch-Mage while her mind is held captive by the Daedric Prince."_

It wasn't the answer Colette wanted to hear, but she knew from long experience that the Auger seldom gave straight-forward replies. "What if I expanded the pool?" she asked. "Included others?"

" _Then you would be able to buy time for the Dragonborn to effect his rescue,"_ said the Auger. _"Whether it will be enough time, remains to be seen."_

"That's all I needed to know," Colette nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Tiernan." She turned to leave.

" _Good-bye, Colette,"_ the husky voice replied. _"We will not meet again."_

With that, the glow faded, as the Auger removed himself from her presence to retreat to wherever he went when not in the Midden. Stunned at the abrupt departure, and at the finality of the Auger's last words, Colette stood for a moment in the doorway, her eyes stinging and her throat constricting.

"Good-bye, my old friend," she whispered, closing the door behind her before returning to the College.

* * *

It took Marcus and Azura the better part of the day to travel to the Water Stone. Along the way, Azura pointed out White Ridge Barrow, which she had already explored.

"It's where I got this mask," she explained, indicating the artifact hanging from her belt. "I came to a large room near the end of the tomb, and this elaborate sarcophagus burst open. A lich emerged, and let me tell you, it was a tough fight! There was one of those curving walls there, too, with those odd scratchings on it. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now I realize it must have been one of those Word Walls you're looking for."

"Can we go take a look?" Marcus asked. He didn't have a spare dragon soul, and needed to use the next one to unlock _gol_ , the rotmulag he had learned at Saering's Watch, but if Azura had already been through the barrow, it wouldn't be very difficult to retrace her steps to get the Word.

As it turned out, there weren't that many draugr she hadn't already taken out. The worst were the spiders; small, albino creatures that leaped out and either exploded into flames or shocked him. He'd thought frostbite spiders were bad enough. Worse, it appeared the little arachnids were genetically engineered by the barrow's previous occupants. Azura showed him the machine they'd used to create them, and even made a few for herself to demonstrate.

"You can't seriously mean you're keeping them?" Marcus spluttered, incredulous.

"Why not?" Azura shrugged. "They're almost as good as a scroll, and faster to use."

"Just keep them away from me," Marcus shuddered. He'd never been particularly afraid of spiders until he'd come to Skyrim. Having one the size of a mini-van spit poison and leap on you was bound to change one's point of view.

The Word on the Wall was _ven_ , which he knew meant 'wind', but the deeper meaning of the thu'um would remain a mystery unless and until he managed to acquire more dragon souls.

 _And if Miraak keeps stealing them, that's going to be a problem_ , he thought sourly.

They reached the Water Stone as the sun began to sink into the Sea of Ghosts. The dragon was one of the familiar wedge-headed type common to Skyrim, and a fire-breather. Marcus felt obliged to at least attempt to reason with it, to sway it to his greater cause against the Thalmor, but the dragon would have none of it. Miraak had gotten to it first.

The conclusion was inevitable, at least, for a dragon as weak as this one. Marcus almost regretted taking its soul. _Almost._

He used the soul immediately to plumb the depths of the meaning of _gol_ , then turned to face the Stone.

" _GOL!"_ he thundered.

Neither of them was prepared for what happened next. Inky black, and rising like a tarry behemoth from the pool around the base of the Stone.

"What in Oblivion is _that?"_ Marcus called out, immediately drawing his weapons.

"I think you're close," Azura shouted back over the creature's roar, bringing ice and shock into her hands. "Whatever it is, it's not from around here!"

The creature lumbered around, searching for something…or someone. As it turned toward Marcus he realized with horror that the damned thing was _female._ There was no doubt in his mind. The upper portion of the chest was covered by a breastplate that reached only to midriff, and she wore an armored loincloth of something that resembled seaweed or eel skin. Her gauntlets and boots were scaled, and made of the same material as the breastplate, which appeared to be a kind of carapace. Her head and face, however, resembled something out of a B-grade horror movie.

 _It's a freaking Creature from the Black Lagoon!_ Marcus thought to himself. And then there was no more time to think as the nightmarish creature leaned back and spewed forth a vile stream of inky black and sickly green tentacles that stung like acid where they contacted his bare skin. Marcus only just turned his head aside in time.

" _Gah!"_ he gritted, against the pain. He lashed out with Dragonbane and was pleased to see the she-devil recoil from the shock, though it seemed he did little damage to it with the Akaviri steel.

Azura fired off shot after shot of Icy Spear, but the creature seemed unaffected by it. She kept her attention focused on Marcus, perceiving him to be the major threat.

 _Or perhaps she's been told to come after the Dragonborn,_ Marcus thought obliquely, _just like the dragons._

When Azura realized her frost spells were having little effect on the shambling behemoth, she switched to her shock spells. After three or four Thunderbolts, the she-creature whirled around and spewed another stream of acid right at the Bosmer mage, who was forced to tumble quickly out of the way.

"Fight's over here, Miss America," Marcus called out, swiping out and hamstringing the monster, bringing her to her knees. Swiftly, she lashed out with a backhand, and Marcus – unable to get out of the way in time – found himself flying backwards, slamming hard into the Water Stone. Both weapons were knocked from his hands, sinking into the inky substance that seemed to surround the Stone.

" _Oof!"_ he gasped, as the breath left his lungs in a rush. He sank down, gasping, as the oily nightmare bore down on him. She reared back once more and Marcus put his hands up, prepared to use his tae kwon do, if he had to, though he didn't think it would have much effect on the behemoth.

"Ward, Marcus!" Azura called frantically. "Ward!"

Not questioning her, Marcus endeavored to remain calm and summon the magicka within him. He barely got the ward up in time to protect his face. The splash-back, however, ate further into his dragonbone armor.

A resounding _CRACK!_ and the smell of ozone filled the air as the she-devil toppled over, to fall face-down in the stygian pool where she lay, unmoving. Beyond her, on the other side of the Earth Stone, Azura stood there with lightning crackling from her fingertips.

"Are you alright?" she called, rushing over.

"Yeah," Marcus wheezed, still catching his breath. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"You look awful," she observed. "Here, let me heal you."

"No, no," Marcus smiled faintly, waving her off. "I've got this. I'm supposed to be practicing, remember?"

He fired off his own healing spell, clearing his lungs of ash while he was at it. Taking a deeper breath than he'd managed for the last few hours, he smiled gratefully at Azura.

"Thanks again," he said. "I would never have thought of using a ward spell that way."

"Being a mage isn't just about blowing things up," Azura smiled. "A lot of the time it's about _how_ you use the power given to you. I've been experimenting with magic for the last hundred and fifty years, and I'm _still_ learning new ways to do things."

"I'll take that lesson to heart then," Marcus promised. "It's only about an hour past sunset," he continued. "Do we want to push on, or do you need to rest?"

"We've made good time," Azura reflected, satisfied. "It's not that far back to Raven Rock and the Earth Stone from here. I think we should push on. We might just be able to circumnavigate Solstheim in a day and a half, instead of two, if we push on through the night."

"I thought you said it wasn't safe to travel at night?"

"Ordinarily it's not," Azura replied. "But you're no ordinary person; you're the Dragonborn. And I'm an accomplished mage. I think we'll be alright."

"Well, I'm all for getting this done as quickly as possible," he nodded, brooding. "Every day we delay, my wife suffers."

Azura laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get her back, Marcus, I promise. I'll help you any way I can, and will do whatever it takes."

The Dragonborn smiled. "Thanks, Azura. Now, which way do we go to get to the next Stone?"

"We should head down to the beach," the Bosmer mage said, smiling back. "It's kind of going the long way, but there's no direct path. I hope you don't mind getting your feet wet."

"I don't mind," Marcus shrugged. "Lead on."

The reavers at Damphall Mine were merely a minor annoyance. Marcus and Azura didn't bother to clear the mine, though Marcus made a mental note to come back later, if they threatened the safety of the people of Raven Rock. The ones at Bloodskal Barrow were tougher, and had set themselves up a cozy little lair in the towers on the beach. Marcus made note of the actual barrow set into the hillside to return to later, as well. It had been his experience that where there was a barrow, there sometimes turned out to be a Word Wall as well. It bore looking into.

In just a few short hours, they found themselves back at the Earth Stone, the mindless drone of the enthralled workers still drifting through the air. All that ended when Marcus Shouted at the Earth Stone, breaking the enchantment. It also summoned another tar-pit creature, which needed to be put down. The problem was that somehow the she-daedra summoned another of her kind. It was tougher fighting two, and they had the added hindrance of the townspeople's safety to consider. Marcus yelled at them to run, but many were still dazed by their recent enthrallment to be able to take action. Turon Areth and a contingent of the Redoran guard showed up several minutes later to even the odds a bit, but it was still a feverish fight, and one of the Redoran guards went down, to move no more.

"What in blazes was that thing?" Turon asked Marcus as the rest of the guard prepared to recover the body of their fallen comrade.

"I have no idea," Marcus answered truthfully. "One of them showed up at the Water Stone, north of here, when we freed that one earlier this evening."

"Is that what's been happening?" Turon blinked. "We've been feeling a lessening of the control over our minds. Whatever you're doing, my friend, it seems to be working."

"That's good to know!" Marcus grinned. "Two down, and only four more to go!"

"You're traveling to all the Stones, then?" Turon asked. When Marcus nodded, he added, "Be careful as you travel to the Sun Stone, then. The ash spawn have been attacking with more frequency lately. Captain Veleth is out beyond the Bulwark now, looking into what happened to our last patrol."

"What _did_ happen to them?" Azura asked.

"They never returned," Turon shrugged. "We don't know why. That's why the Captain went out there. If you see him, let him know what you're doing. I'm sure it will put some of his concerns to rest."

"If we see him, we'll tell him," Marcus promised. "Come on, Azura. Let's get moving."

As they returned to Raven Rock, Marcus noticed the blacksmith just coming out of his house to start his day.

"Give me a minute," Marcus said to Azura. "I'm hoping I can fix my armor before we go further."

"That's fine with me," the wood elf replied. "I'll see if I can get a few more potions from Milore while you're doing that."

She waved a hand as she parted from him, and Marcus approached the blacksmith.

"Good morning," he said. "You're out here early."

"I've got to be," the smith replied, not looking up. "Glover Mallory's the name. If you need arms or armor, come to me and I'll fix you up right."

"Mallory?" Marcus blinked. "You don't have a brother in Riften named Delvin, do you?"

The hand on the forge stilled and the burly Breton turned to face him.

"Why do you ask?" Glover asked flatly. There was no emotion in his voice, but Marcus knew enough about people to know suspicion when he heard it. He smiled.

"Delvin's a friend of mine," he told Glover. "He and his friend Brynjolf…find things for me."

"Do they now?" Glover said. "And just who are you? How are you connected to my brother and his…organization?"

"I'm Marcus of Whiterun," the Dragonborn replied, waiting. He wasn't sure if his reputation had extended to Solstheim, but he needn't have worried.

"The Dragonborn himself, eh?" Glover mused. "Well, now, isn't that interesting? I never thought the Dragonborn would stoop to—"

"I haven't," Marcus cut in firmly. "Delvin and Brynjolf find information for me, nothing more."

"Information?" Glover said, surprised. "I never thought I'd see the day old Del would find that more lucrative than…than his current job," he continued, dropping his voice as a Redoran guard passed. "So tell me…how's my brother doing? Still spending his nights at the Ragged Flagon trying to win Vex's heart?"

Marcus chuckled. "I wouldn't know. I don't spend much time there. But he's helped me out on a few occasions, and we get along fairly well. I last saw him about four months ago. He'd…liberated…some rather…sensitive documents for me from someone who didn't need them anymore, and he was fine then."

"Good to hear," Glover nodded. "Damned layabout never even bothers to send his own flesh and blood a letter saying how he's doing. Can you imagine? If you see him again anytime soon, tell him to drop me a line or two so I'll know he's still alive."

Marcus promised he would, and Glover quirked a grin at him to let him know there was no bitterness there, before continuing. "So anyway, what can I do for the Dragonborn?"

Marcus smiled. "I really just came over to ask if I can borrow your workbench," he said, pointing to his armor. "I've taken a few hits and need to make a few repairs."

Glover's eyes widened. "I've been hearing about dragonbone armor," he breathed, "but I've never seen it. May I?"

Marcus nodded and let the smith step around him, examining the armor from all angles. Glover whistled when he was done.

"That's some fine workmanship that is," he admitted. "And here I thought making bonemold armor was tough."

"They're both difficult to do," Marcus acknowledged. "I can really only work with dwemer metals, orichalcum and ebony myself. But at least I know enough to keep my armor and weapons in good repair. I've only recently learned the proper way to improve enchanted armor and weapons, as well."

After several more minutes of talking shop, Glover willingly allowed Marcus the use of his workbench and stood over his shoulder watching as he repaired the gaps in his armor made by the acid-spitting creature with the bones and scales he'd taken from the two dragons he and Azura had fought at Saering's Watch and the Water Stone. He also let Marcus use the grinding wheel to keen the edges on his two swords.

"I've never even seen an Akaviri blade before," Glover said, marveling over the elegant lines of the dai-katana. "Kind of makes me wish—" But he broke off before completing that thought, and Marcus felt it would have been prying to ask him to finish it. "I wonder…would I be able to ask a favor of you?" Glover asked him now.

"Sure," Marcus said. "It's the least I can do, since you've let me take up your time here."

"Well, you see, there's this old miner in town, Crescius Carellius, and he's taken my ancient Nordic pickaxe… _again._ I'm getting tired of having to hunt him down and retrieve it. Could you…could you maybe talk to him and see if you can get it back? I'll bet he'd listen to you."

"I suppose so," Marcus said, "but why not just let the Redoran guard know? I'm sure they'd be able to enforce the law."

"I prefer to handle things on my own," Glover mumbled, looking nervously about. "I just want my pickaxe back."

"Why not just get another one?" Marcus asked. "They're not that uncommon, and they're not that expensive."

"No, you don't understand," Glover protested. "This is an _ancient Nordic pickaxe._ They don't exactly grow on trees, you know. You tell Crescius to give me that pickaxe back, and I'll pay you for the trouble."

The money wasn't important to Marcus, but he'd found many people across Skyrim seemed to feel it was a debt of honor to pay for a favor done them. Refusing the payment was almost an insult, but it still made him feel uncomfortable taking money for something he would have done anyway out of the kindness of his heart.

"What's so special about this particular pickaxe?" Marcus asked now.

"It's the only tool tough enough to crack stalhrim," Glover explained. "Not many of those beauties left in the world. Forging them is a lost art. The one Crescius 'borrowed' came from the Skaal Village up north. I…uh…traded some goods for it."

There was only the barest hesitation in Glover's voice that told Marcus he may have acquired the pickaxe by way of a 'five-finger discount' himself. Deciding to ignore this for the moment, Marcus asked out of curiosity, "Just what is stalhrim anyway? Is it some kind of ore?"

Glover snorted in mirth. "Calling stalhrim an 'ore' is like calling my forge a 'campfire'." He chuckled. "Some folks say it's enchanted ice, but I think there's more to it than that."

"The ancient Nords here in Solstheim used it to seal their coffins," Azura put in, coming up to the two men, her business with Milore finished. "But no one really knows how they did it. Needless to say, no one could get through the stalhrim to loot the bodies."

"Well, no one except someone with an ancient Nordic pickaxe," Glover qualified.

"So it's pretty rare, then?" Marcus surmised.

Glover nodded. "I don't think I've come across more than a chunk or two in my lifetime, and smithing's my trade. If you're looking to learn more, you should head over to the Skaal Village. Someone there is bound to know more about it than I do."

Marcus thanked him for the information and the use of his smithy, then he and Azura headed through town and past the wharfs to the fortified wall known as the Bulwark, which protected Raven Rock from any threat coming from the south.

They had not gone far out of town before a flash of fire ahead of them alerted the two companions to trouble. Near a ruined farmhouse, one man in bonemold armor was attempting to hold off attacks by three shambling mounds that looked like they were made entirely of ash. Near him, two other figures in bonemold lay unmoving on the ground.

"Come on, Azura!" Marcus said, drawing Dragonbane. His other sword, the dragonbone blade he'd named 'Alduin's Bane,' was the stronger of the two, but its enchantments were fire and soul trapping. Just the fact that the creatures were using fire suggested to him that the lightning enchantment laid on Dragonbane might be more effective.

Azura had already drawn her stalhrim blade, Grave, and had brought up ice in her other hand.

"What are those things?" Marcus called as they hurried forward.

"That would be the infamous ash spawn," Azura told him, and Marcus remembered both her and Turon telling him about the attacks that had been increasing in frequency and intensity.

With their help, the threat was soon overcome, and Marcus was intrigued to find ores and gems in the ashes the spawn left behind when they collapsed.

"Do they always drop these?" he asked Azura.

"I believe so, yes," she replied. "Why?"

"No reason," Marcus replied smugly, making a mental note to seek out more ash spawn after he'd rescued Tamsyn.

The remaining soldier approached them.

"Thanks," he smiled. "I wasn't sure I'd make it off this farm alive." His countenance fell, and he turned his gaze sadly towards the two bodies lying nearby. "I wish I could have said the same for my men here. I'm Captain Veleth, by the way," he added, offering his hand to Marcus. The Dragonborn took it and clasped wrists with the Captain, who turned to Azura. "To whom do I owe thanks for your timely intervention, Azura?"

"This is Marcus of Whiterun," she smiled proudly. "He's the one known as Dragonborn."

"Your reputation precedes you, Dragonborn," Captain Veleth nodded, his smile growing wider. "How long will you be in Solstheim?"

"I'm not sure," Marcus admitted. "Longer than I anticipated, certainly. My wife has been abducted by a Daedric Prince, and the clues to rescue here are here on Solstheim somewhere. Azura has been helping me figure it out."

"You're in good hands, then," Veleth nodded sympathetically. "And I wish you the best of luck in finding your wife. The Daedra are…mysterious, and I tend to keep out of their way. The expert in that area would be Elder Othreloth at the Temple. I leave that sort of thing to him. My concern right now is finding out where all these ash spawn are coming from. They're a danger to Raven Rock, and they need to be stopped."

Azura looked expectantly at Marcus, who gave an inward sigh. "How can I help?" he asked, and Azura nodded her head enthusiastically.

Captain Veleth looked relieved. "I didn't want to ask," he admitted, "but I'm grateful for the offer. I've been searching for clues that might lead me to wherever they're coming from. I know it isn't the best place to start, but we know they've been coming from this direction."

"Azura and I can look around here, if that will help," Marcus offered.

"Good," Veleth nodded. "I don't mind admitting I can use all the help I can get. Besides, I don't feel comfortable leaving Raven Rock behind. The security of the town and of Councilor Morvayn is my primary concern. Besides, I'd hate to lose any more Redoran Guard."

"We'll find out where they're coming from," Azura promised. "We'll let you know if we find anything."

"Thank you Azura," Veleth smiled warmly. "And thank you, too, Dragonborn. I'll head back to town then."

He turned and left them there to conduct their search.

"I hope you don't mind?" Azura ventured with a worried frown. "I know I kind of pushed you into this, but I've known Veleth forever, and he's a good mer. He genuinely cares about the people under his protection, just like you."

Marcus relented. "No, it's alright, Azura," he assured her. "I don't really mind. If it wasn't for the fact that I feel time slipping away from me, I wouldn't have a problem about it at all. I'm just so worried about getting to Tamsyn in time before…" He let his voice trail off. He couldn't – _wouldn't_ put into words what he feared might happen.

"Let's stop and think about that for a moment, Marcus," Azura said, moving over to an ash-covered fallen log and brushing it off before sitting down. She patted the log next to her and he dutifully lowered himself to sit next to her.

"First of all," Azura began, "I know what Master Neloth said, about her body weakening while her mind is in Apocrypha. That's what's got you worried most, right?"

Marcus nodded morosely.

"And you've already told me that there's something special about Tamsyn that Hermaeus Mora wants to know, which is why he sprung the trap on her in the first place, right?"

"Yeah," Marcus acknowledged. "What's your point, Azura? I'm not following you."

"My point is that whatever it is that makes her special might just be what's keeping her body alive out here. Maybe even longer than a normal person could survive." She smiled. "And besides, there are Restoration spells that the mages at the College could and should be casting on her to sustain her, even while she appears to be incorporeal. Do you know if they're doing that?"

Marcus sat up straighter. "No," he admitted, hope rising. "But I can find out. Give me a minute."

He removed his gauntlet and put his hand up to his ear, touching the silver stud that had been put there two years before. He'd never had a body-piercing before, so it had been a new experience for him. He'd even joked with Tamsyn about getting a tattoo next.

"I'll do it if you will," she had grinned, and he had ended up with _Dovahkiin_ in the dragon alphabet encircling his right bicep. Tamsyn had the artist ink _Prok-Lahzey_ in the same runes on her left arm.

Now, he concentrated on communicating with Tolfdir at Winterhold, and the elderly mage responded immediately.

" _Dragonborn! So good of you to call! Are you safe?"_ Marcus hid a smile at Tolfdir's near-legendary concern over safety. He tapped the ear stud twice to increase the volume so Azura could hear as well.

"For the moment Tolfdir," he said aloud, trying not to smirk at the amazement on the Bosmer girl's face. "How is Tamsyn?"

" _I was just about to contact you, in fact,"_ Tolfdir replied. _"The Arch-Mage is doing better than we expected, Dragonborn. Sergius isn't any closer to finding a way to bring her back, but she seems to be holding on so far."_

"What about Restoration spells?" Marcus asked. "Can you cast them on her, to keep her alive?"

" _Well, now, it's funny you should ask that,"_ Tolfdir said, with a note of surprise in his voice. _"Our Restoration Master, Colette Marence, took it upon herself to speak with the Auger of Dunlaine, and we now have a healing circle set up round the clock, with faculty and students pouring healing spells into the Arch-Mage."_

Tolfdir paused and there was a tone of humility in his voice when he spoke again. _"At first we didn't want to let the students know what had happened,"_ he admitted, _"and I'm ashamed to say we gave Colette the brush-off when she first mentioned her concerns. But I'm sure you know how determined Breton women can be when they want to get something done."_

He chuckled, and Marcus allowed the elder mage his moment of amusement before Tolfdir continued.

" _As it turns out, we've had quite a few volunteers for this, Dragonborn. Everyone wants to help. Your wife is well-loved by everyone here. And we've had a side-benefit from this unfortunate incident: all of this has given the students an opportunity for practical application of their Restoration magic, and they're becoming stronger in that school. I think your wife would be pleased. So you needn't worry as much, Marcus,"_ Tolfdir finished kindly. _"We have the matter under control. I won't say take your time, but the situation is no longer as dire as it was."_

"That's good to know, Tolfdir," Marcus sighed in relief. "Thank you." He ended the connection and turned to Azura who gazed at him with liquid eyes.

"Please?" she begged in a whisper. _"Please_ tell me how you did that?"

Marcus chuckled and explained to her how the ear studs worked, pulling one out of his belt pouch that he kept as a spare.

"Take it," he insisted. "If we get separated, this will help us communicate over distances."

Azura quickly removed one of her beaded, feathered earrings and put the silver stud in her left earlobe. She moved away several paces to test it and after a few minor hiccups, soon became comfortable and confident with it.

"This is amazing!" she enthused. "And you say your wife invented this?"

"Yeah," Marcus smiled fondly, thinking of Tamsyn. "She's something else alright."

"What else?" Azura asked, innocently.

"No," Marcus chuckled, "I meant that she's not like other women."

Azura made a wry face. "You're her husband. You're expected to say that."

"It's in the 'Husband's Handbook,'" he confirmed, nodding. "'All husbands are to be firm in the conviction that their wife is unlike any other.' Chapter three, verse seven."

"Really?" Azura stared at him with wide eyes. "Is there really such a book?"

"Not that any man will ever admit to," Marcus smirked.

Realizing she was being had, Azura rolled her eyes and picked up her backpack. "Fine, then. Let's see what clues we can find around here for Captain Veleth."

They searched the ruined farmhouse and the garden area beyond, where ash yams still struggled to flourish in the harsh environment, but could find nothing. Marcus went back to the remains of the ash spawn and poked through them, finding a few more ores he'd overlooked. Among the cremains of one he found a charred bit of parchment, still legible enough to read.

"Azura, come here!" he called. He showed her the paper as she hurried over. "I think I may have found something."

"What is it?" she asked, peering closely.

"Some kind of letter, it looks like," he replied. Clearing his throat, he read it aloud. "'Raven Rock Stronghold: my calls for the unconditional surrender of your forces and an immediate cessation of all hostilities has been ignored numerous times. I therefore have no choice but to assume your purpose on Solstheim is hostile, and to treat Raven Rock Stronghold as an enemy of the Empire. I warn you, any attempt to breach Fort Frostmoth will be met with an equal level of aggression. I will do everything in my power to wipe you and your forces off the face of Tamriel. There will be no further communications between us. General Falx Carius, Garrison Commander, Fort Frostmoth.'"

"Falx Carius?" Azura blinked. "Who is that?"

"I have no idea," Marcus replied, troubled. "I wasn't aware that the Empire was waging war against Morrowind."

"Why is he calling it 'Raven Rock Stronghold'?" Azura mused. "It's been a city for as long as I've been here. A stronghold would imply more of a military base in hostile territory."

"That's what I was thinking, too," Marcus nodded. "We'd better get back to Raven Rock and show this to Captain Veleth. Maybe he's got some ideas. I'm stumped."

They caught up to Captain Veleth before he had time to travel all the way back to Raven Rock. Before they could show him the note, however, more ash spawn dragged themselves from the ground and launched an attack on the Bulwark that surrounded the city on the south side. Several of the Redoran guard emerged at once to fight them off, and Marcus, Azura and Captain Veleth hurried in from behind the spawn to assist. This time the fight was easier, and with Marcus' swords and Azura's frost spells, it was soon over. Marcus surreptitiously added the scattered ores to his backpack.

Captain Veleth approached them once more. "I'm really getting concerned about these attacks," he confided. "At first they seemed to be random, but now they're becoming more precise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were testing the strength of our walls." He brooded for a moment before asking them, "Did you learn anything useful at the old Attius Farm?"

"Yeah," Marcus said, pulling the note from his belt pouch. "We found this." He handed the parchment over to the Captain, who read it and frowned.

"Falx Carius?" he blurted, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"Who was he?" Azura asked.

"Carius was the Imperial garrison commander at Fort Frostmoth," Veleth explained. "But he died over two hundred years ago when the Red Mountain leveled the place. There's no way he could still be alive!"

"Unless someone is pretending to be him, in order to strain relations between the Empire and Morrowind," Marcus frowned. He had a pretty good idea who that 'someone' might be.

"That would be a problem," Veleth said. "But I don't have enough men to go to Fort Frostmoth to check it out. With the ash spawn attacking intermittently, I need every man I've got right here in Raven Rock."

"I'll look into it for you," Marcus offered. "This is a possible threat to the peace of Tamriel, and that's a cause that is near and dear to my heart."

"Thank you, Dragonborn!" Captain Veleth said gratefully. "Do you have a map? Fort Frostmoth is a ruin, so I doubt it will be on it, but I remember the location. I'll mark it down for you."

"I have a map," Azura offered, slipping her backpack off to dig into it. Veleth studied the map carefully before making a mark with a piece of charcoal he picked up off the ground.

"Right there," he said, pointing to a location directly east of them, "or very close to it. It was a port at one time, before the mountain blew, and there are still remnants of the docks down by the water's edge."

"That's almost halfway to the Sun Stone," Azura remarked as she peered over his shoulder. "It's practically right on our way."

"We'll let you know what we find out, Captain," Marcus promised, carefully folding up Azura's map and handing it back to her. She shook her head though and insisted he keep it.

"I know my way around Solstheim fairly well," she said. "I really only kept it out of laziness. I couldn't be bothered to throw it away."

Marcus chuckled and tucked it into his belt pouch. They made their farewells to the Captain and began heading east. The sun was low in the west by now, but despite not having slept since the Skaal Village over a day ago, Marcus felt energized and ready to push on. Part of it was the constant worry of getting to Tamsyn in time, though the fear he might be too late had abated somewhat after his call to Tolfdir. He was partly riding on that high, and partly on the adrenaline rush he always got when there was a mystery to solve. He confided as much to Azura.

"If you like mysteries, Solstheim is full of them," she chuckled. "Like, why did the East Empire Company shut down a very productive ebony mine? Or what is the secret of Kagrumez? Who was Haknir Death-Brand? And where did the rieklings come from? There are a lot of mysteries here."

"I don't know that I'll have time to get to them all," Marcus grinned. "It might mean a return visit. What about you, Azura? Do you like mysteries?"

Her face fell. "Not anymore," she replied soberly. "I learned the hard way."

 _And here,_ thought Marcus, _is the greatest mystery of all. What happened in your past Azura?_ He wrestled with his conscience for a moment before venturing tentatively, "Did you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."

Azura sighed and refused to meet his eyes, keeping hers straight ahead as they walked along.

"I suppose I should tell you," she finally murmured. "Your wife is the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, after all. If I don't tell you, I'm sure she will."

"But Tamsyn's never met you," Marcus soothed.

"No," Azura said miserably. "But the story of what happened then is still being told as a cautionary tale among the students. She had to have heard it, if she's spent any time at the College."

"You don't have to if—" he began, but Azura cut him off.

"No, I do," she said, steeling herself. "I do have to tell you, if only to tell you my side of the story, that was lost all those decades ago."

* * *

 _5_ _th_ _Sun's Dawn, 4E 90_

" _Come on, Azura," Katarina begged her. "You've got to see this!" The Imperial girl was more excited than Azura could remember seeing her, but this was something that definitely set off warning bells in her mind._

" _I don't know, Kat," Azura hesitated. "We really aren't supposed to be going down into the Midden, you know. Arch-Mage Sedroth wouldn't—"_

" _He doesn't know," Treoy said firmly. The Altmer glared at her out of eyes so orange they looked like smooth orbs of amber. "And you're not going to tell him," he added warningly._

" _Azura's no snitch," Enthir said staunchly, and Azura warmed at the loyalty in her friend's voice. "I said I would vouch for her."_

" _That's all very well and good, Enthir," Pithi put in, "but we only have your word for it. What do_ you _say, Azura?" The Argonian locked eyes with her, and she quailed under that unblinking stare. 'Pithi' was a shortened version of the Argonian's true name, she knew, which none of them had been able to pronounce correctly. After several attempts on the young lizard man's part to get them to try, he had finally given up and allowed them to call him by the truncated version._

" _Well?" demanded Balwen. The Breton girl was the Arch-Mage's favorite. Everyone knew it, including Azura. Even if she had squealed on what they were about to attempt, Balwen would have cleverly spun a tale with just enough truth in it to be believable, and Arch-Mage Sedroth would have forgiven his favorite, and anyone who stood with her._

" _I promise," she relented, hating herself for caving in so easily. "I won't say anything to the Arch-Mage."_

" _Alright!" Katarina exulted. "Let's go do this, then!"_

 _Treoy said nothing, and Azura could only imagine what was going through his mind. The four of them, minus Enthir and herself, had all come to the College of Winterhold at the same time, and were a bit further advanced in their studies than she and her Bosmer counterpart. It was Enthir who constantly strove to ingratiate himself with them, finally realizing he could be the most useful by providing resources and materials that weren't strictly allowed. Azura would have preferred to know nothing about the schemes and plans of the 'Infernal Four', as she sometimes thought of them, except that Enthir had confided in her. He was sweet on her, she knew, but she was here to study, not get involved in a relationship. She couldn't deny, however, that she found him attractive. And when he wasn't planning his next big con, he could be very charming._

 _It was Enthir who had discovered the statue in the Midden; no one knew where it had come from, but it seemed as ancient as the stones of the catacombs. Treoy had done some research and declared to his cronies that he had figured out what it was meant to do. There had been secretive meetings then, between the four of them, which sometimes included Enthir as they acknowledged his usefulness in procuring contraband items. And Enthir had confided in her, in an attempt to woo her, which then made Azura culpable._

 _She hated it. She wished she'd never heard about the gauntleted hand, or the rings that had to be forged to place on the fingers of the effigy. She wished she'd never heard of Velehk Sain._

 _Then had come the day when Treoy announced they were ready to do their experiment. They were going to attempt to summon the Daedra pirate Velehk Sain. Azura wrestled with her conscience all day long, and had made two or three aborted attempts to speak with the Arch-Mage, but fear stopped her; fear of what Treoy or Pithi or Balwen might do to her if she squealed. She wasn't as concerned about Katarina. She knew the Imperial girl liked her. In the end, she had written an anonymous note, sealed it and left it on the Arch-Mage's desk while he was out of his quarters before scurrying to meet the others at the appointed place at the appointed time. She attempted to assuage her conscience by telling herself she did not, in fact, break her promise to the others; she had not, in fact,_ told _the Arch-Mage – she'd left it in a written note._

 _As they trooped down to the Midden, she kept telling herself, 'Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe they really_ do _know what they're doing.' And maybe pigs would fly. But it was too late to turn back now._

 _At first, everything seemed to be going well. Katarina placed her ring on the index finger of the hand, then Treoy placed his on the middle finger. Balwen stepped up then and put hers on the ring finger, and Pithi finished by placing his on the little finger._

 _For a moment, nothing happened, and Azura nearly wept with relief; it had failed, in spite of their efforts._

 _But suddenly a huge explosion ripped through the air. She and Enthir, who had been standing several feet away at Balwen's insistence, were blown back against a far wall. Dazed, she could only stare helplessly as the four figures, standing closest to the effigy, were burned alive, screaming horribly. Those screams echoed in her dreams for decades to come. She had fainted, then, and remembered nothing more until much later._

 _She and Enthir were called to stand in front of Master Wizard Deneth, who she could see was now wearing Arch-Mage Sedroth's robes._

" _It pains me greatly to inform you of the death of Arch-Mage Sedroth," he told them. "The summoning you and your friends attempted was far beyond your abilities to perform. Moreover, you let loose a powerful Daedra who had to be tracked down and banished back to Oblivion before more lives here at the College would be lost. Unfortunately, Arch-Mage Sedroth lost his life banishing the Daedra. So now it falls to me to determine your fate."_

 _He paced back and forth, considering._

" _Why did neither of you come to me or the Arch-Mage?" he asked, before quickly answering himself. "No, Enthir, don't say anything. I know you were in it up to your ears. It's just the sort of thing I would expect from you. But you, Azura? You were one of the most promising students we've had here in a long time. Why didn't you say anything?"_

 _Azura bowed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I…I was afraid of what they might do to me if I did," she confessed. "I left a note, but I didn't sign it."_

" _A note?" Deneth queried, as Enthir looked at her in betrayal. The right side of his head was heavily bandaged from the injuries he'd received in the blast. But he had thrown himself in front of her. She remembered that. Still, though, indignation aros. What right did he have to be angry with her? She'd been trying to do the right thing. The thing she should have done when she first heard about the plan, until he'd sworn her to secrecy. Her career here was in tatters, and it was all his fault for involving her!_

" _So that's where that came from," the new Arch-Mage mused. He seemed to turn several things over in his mind before speaking. "I must admit I'm at a loss as to what to do with you both. That you can't remain here is certain. The students, scholars and instructors will not treat you with any respect, after what you have been involved in. Where you go when you leave here is none of my concern. Perhaps in a generation or so, you might be able to return, but for now, pack your things and leave. You are banished from the College for the foreseeable future."_

 _Numbly, Azura left the Arch-Mage's quarters and returned to the Hall of Resolution to pack what few items she possessed into a duffle bag. Enthir would neither look at her nor speak to her. It was only as she was leaving that he caught up with her._

" _Where are you going?" he asked._

" _Does it matter?" she glared at him. "This shouldn't be happening to me, Enthir! I_ never _got into trouble before I met you, and now I'm banished._ Banished! _"_

" _We could go down to Cyrodiil," he suggested. "I hear they're trying to rebuild the Arcane University down there."_

" _You go," Azura snapped. "It's just the sort of con you're good at. Just leave me alone!"_

" _But I thought—"_

" _You thought_ what, _Enthir?" Azura asked dangerously. "That I liked you? I did. I thought you were my friend. But a friend doesn't get another friend into trouble. Don't you realize,_ four people died because of us! _How can you live with that on your conscience?"_

" _I'm trying not to think about it," Enthir mumbled._

" _You see?" Azura snapped. "That's just what I'm talking about! Just go away, Enthir! Go to Cyrodiil or go to Oblivion, I don't care! Just leave me alone!"_

 _She strode through the gates of the College and down the bridge towards the thriving port-city of Winterhold. The boats floated lazily on the tide, and the marketplace was crowded with merchants and shoppers. The smell of fresh-baked bread drifted through the air, mingled with the smell of the day's catch and the luring scent of herbs and spices from all over Tamriel._

 _Children were running, laughing through the streets and the vendors called out their wares. The brightly-colored awnings of their stalls snapped and flapped in the brisk wind coming off the Sea of Ghosts, but Azura closed her mind to all of it. On any other day, she would have reveled in the immersion of the lively town, but today her thoughts were bleak and gray._

" _I fail to see how your ignorance equals my inconvenience," a haughty voice drawled, cutting through the darkness of her mind. Azura looked up to see a tall, angular Dunmer dressed in long, flowing robes of red and orange with a distinctive curlicue patterning._

That's House Telvanni, _she thought,_ or I'm a skeever. _That particular Dunmer clan were known to be the most renowned mages in all of Morrowind. It was unlikely that word of the unfortunate circumstances at the College had gotten out. That sort of thing would have been kept extremely hushed-up due to the bad publicity it would have generated. Nords in general didn't trust magic. To have it get out that four students had died, and a Daedra nearly unleashed upon the population would have made relations between Arch-Mage Deneth and Jarl Valdimar…strained, to say the least._

 _The Dunmer was still arguing with a man near the Harbor Master's office._

" _I'm telling you, Master Neloth," the Nord said exasperatedly, "I can't bring a huge mammoth carcass onto my ship. I don't care if you've had it stuffed. It's just too heavy. The_ Sea Siren _carries_ passengers, _not cargo. You can talk to the other captains here who have bigger ships than mine. Maybe you can make arrangements for them to haul that thing back to Solstheim for you, but it won't be me. The Sea of Ghosts is stormy this time of year, and I'm not having the_ Siren _end up on the bottom of the ocean just because you're waving a lot of money around."_

 _Azura smiled faintly. This was something she might be able to help with. She had made a decade-long study of mass and volume, and had developed a way to reduce both, as well as restore it later._

 _Quickly she introduced herself to the Dunmer and offered her services. Lifting a casual eyebrow, Neloth invited her to test the proof of her words on the taxidermied remains of one of Skyrim's mammoths. When she successfully cast her spell, shrinking the behemoth down to the size of a stuffed animal, Neloth grunted in approval._

" _Well, that settles one dilemma, certainly," he said grudgingly. "But it simply means you'll have to come to Solstheim with me to restore it once I get back to Tel Mithryn. You aren't expected to be anywhere, are you?"_

" _No," Azura said, a shadow passing over her face. "Not anymore."_

" _Well, then, come along," Neloth ordered. "Time is wasting, and I have a lot to do. Bring the elephant."_

* * *

"So that's how you ended up in Solstheim, huh?" Marcus asked Azura now.

"Yes," she nodded. "I studied with him as his apprentice for a little over seventy years, and then as his assistant when he took on Talvas about twenty years ago or so. But I never realized just how unpleasant and callous he could be until you came along."

"Sorry to have busted up the relationship," Marcus said sincerely, but Azura waved him off.

"I'm not sorry, so you shouldn't be, either," she said honestly. "I learned a lot from Neloth, in spite of my diatribe against him the other day. He is one of the most brilliant mages I've ever known. It's time I moved on, though. The last few decades have been something of a trial, because I thought I had feelings for Neloth, but he never reciprocated. I don't think he knows how. But now you know why I can never go back to Winterhold."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Marcus said. "From what you've told me, you really weren't at fault, and I think your Arch-Mage at the time might have been looking for a scapegoat to pin the blame on. I mean, Enthir came back. There's no reason why you couldn't."

"Enthir was always a friend of Savos Aren," Azura put in. "He became Arch-Mage after Master Deneth passed away. Enthir must have convinced him to let him return."

"Well, I have an in at the College," Marcus grinned. "My wife. I'm sure she'd let you come back. After all, you're helping me to get her out of Apocrypha."

Azura gave a faint smile. "I hope you're right, Marcus. I really miss being among people who know and understand magic. It's not so bad here, but the facilities and resources are somewhat…limited."

"I understand," Marcus replied. "And I promise you I'll speak with Tamsyn about it, just as soon as we get her back."

"Thank you," she beamed. "That means a lot to me."

The sun had set completely by this time, and Masser was rising in the east, though its image was hazy due to all the ash in the air. Secunda wouldn't rise until much later in the evening. Marcus and Azura pushed on towards Fort Frostmoth, and crested the last hill when Little Sister was high overhead.

" _Laas yah niir,"_ he whispered, and several figures lit up around the ruined fort. Some moved around, but others were motionless, and appeared to be buried in the sand.

"I think we might have more of those ash spawn to deal with," Marcus murmured, and told her what he could see.

"Is there any way around them?" Azura asked. "I'm not familiar with this fortress at all. I knew it was here, but I've never had reason to come and explore it."

"There doesn't seem to be an easy route," Marcus said, shaking his head. "The best we can do is try to pick them off one at a time."

"We should start with the one down there by the dock, then," Azura suggested. "It's the furthest away from the others, and if we don't take it out quickly, at least we won't alert the others and have them rush down on us."

"Good idea," Marcus approved. "Follow me, and stick close."

"Like a burr on a dog," Azura quipped, casting a Muffle spell to hide the noise of their movements.

The ash spawn near the docks went down quickly, but unfortunately they were spotted by one further along the beach that had been out of range of Marcus' Aura Whisper. It started lobbing fireballs at them, and Azura leaped to one side behind the pier to avoid getting roasted. Marcus dived into the water and immediately realized it might have been a mistake. The weight of the Dragonbone armor pulled him under. He thrashed frantically to get to the surface before his lungs ran out of air, but with all his equipment, he was too heavily burdened.

 _Wait…don't I know that Waterbreathing spell?_

Closing his eyes to concentrate, Marcus made the quick gestures required, sinking deeper as he did so. The magic exploded underwater, and suddenly breathing was possible once more. Laughing with delight, Marcus allowed himself to sink to the floor of the bay and walked up to the shore, coming out behind the ash spawn just as the spell terminated. Swiftly drawing Dragonbane, he crept up behind the spawn, who didn't see him, and ran it through.

With a shudder, the creature dissolved into a pile of ash, and Marcus sifted through the remains for the ores and gems.

"Whew!" Azura gasped, running up to him. "I am so glad to see you! I thought you'd drowned for sure!"

"I remembered a spell," Marcus grinned, proud of himself. "I didn't think I'd be able to do it, but I must be getting stronger."

"I think you are," Azura beamed, just as proudly. "And I think you'll find it will get easier for you, the more you use it."

As they approached the ruins themselves, it became immediately apparent that some horrible disaster had befallen the fortress. A fireball came out of nowhere, however, and Marcus cursed himself for not paying attention. He followed the trajectory back where it had come from even as Azura brought her ice spells on hand once more. Firing off his Aura Whisper Shout, he could see dozens of figures, at various levels, in and around the ruins.

At the top of the watchtower a figure moved, blending neatly into the shadows and sand. But the tell-tale glow of his _thu'um_ told Marcus there was at least two ash spawn lurking there.

"Take cover!" he barked at Azura, and raced for the tower, dodging fireballs as he did so, and thanking the gods for the ring Tamsyn had made him. Over his head, Azura shot bolt after bolt of ice, but the ash spawn retreated behind the crenellations and she was unable to do much damage.

Finding the entrance to the tower, half-choked with ash and sand, Marcus squeezed his way in and headed up the stairs. An ash spawn arose from the drifted ash under the stairs, and Marcus turned to deal with it before continuing upstairs. The two at the top of the tower were equipped with obsidian-like slivers of stone that glowed red at their centers. The hard, crusty, outer layer of their bodies reminded Marcus of cooled lava, and it wasn't too difficult to imagine their glowing cores were made of magma, rather than pumping blood.

The first one feinted with its axe, and Marcus fell for the feint. With a quick slice, the obsidian blade cut deeply into the armor on Marcus' left arm.

"Hey! I just fixed that!" he bellowed in rage. He brought Dragonbane around in a sweeping slice before him, cutting through the rocky abdomens of both spawn. One suddenly sprouted an Icy Spear through its head and went down. Marcus didn't know that spell, but he did know Ice Spike, and loosed one at the remaining spawn.

It staggered, but brought its axe back again to deflect the blow Marcus struck with Dragonbane. Raising its hand, it channeled a stream of fire at the Dragonborn, who merely laughed at him.

"You'll have to do better than that, Sandy," he told it, firing off another Ice Spike and stabbing with the Akaviri blade. The dai-katana punched through the hard outer shell of the spawn like it was punching through crusty bread. The spawn went to its knees, and Marcus finished it off with a coup de grace move that amputated the arm at the shoulder. The creature shuddered and fell to pieces.

"Are you alright, Marcus?" Azura called up.

"Fine as frog's hair," Marcus replied. "I'll be right down." He retrieved the ores from the ashes and rejoined Azura below.

"Frogs don't have hair," she informed him drily when he returned, and he chuckled.

"It's just an expression where I come from," he grinned. "It means I'm okay."

Azura said nothing, but merely gave him a curious look.

They approached the outer wall of the fort itself, which was a large, arched opening. There might have been some sort of portcullis here at one time, Marcus thought, but after the explosion of the Red Mountain, what was left of the Fort was buried in tons of ash. He could clearly see three partial towers from their vantage point, one of which turned out to be, in point of fact, a double-tower on two levels. He couldn't see much more as they passed under the archway, as ash spawn – at least a half dozen of them – rose from the cinders, and from somewhere, a disembodied voice called out.

" _Men! Invaders have entered the fort! Prepare yourselves for an ambush!"_

"I think he knows we're here," Azura quipped, bringing frost into her hands.

"Let's see if these spawn respond to a superior voice," Marcus said. He didn't like the odds of so many rushing them at once.

" _FAAS RU MAAR!"_

He didn't often use the Dismay Shout, preferring to fight his enemies, rather than instill fear in them and then have to chase them down. But in this case he felt that even if only a few of them turned, it would even the odds in their favor.

Azura sent a wave of frost into the three that turned to run, weakening them, but not taking them out. She followed it up by drawing Grave and launching an Icy Spear into the midsection of the one closest to her.

Fireballs exploded around them from the remaining spawn as that strange voice called out again, _"Fort Frostmoth will never fall! Long live the Empire!"_

Then the spawn were upon them and blades were more effective than spells. One of the spawn caught Marcus in his left arm with its wicked looking obsidian axe. The dragon bones shuddered under the assault, but held, though Marcus knew there'd be a bruise unless and until he healed it with spell or potion.

He feinted high but came in with a low sweep of the dragonbone blade he'd named Alduin's Bane. The spawn, caught off guard, took heavy damage, but relentlessly pressed its attack. With his free hand, Marcus launched a spray of frost into the creatures face, and it stumbled, going to its knees. He finished it off and turned to help Azura, who was being backed into a corner by the gate by two of the other spawn who hadn't run off. A quick glance around told Marcus the other three were still lingering near one of the other towers. Whatever hold this General Falx had over these monsters, it was strong enough to keep them a potential, if not immediate threat.

Azura skewered one of the ash spawn with Grave, the shimmering blue blade erupting from between its shoulder blades, and Marcus brought Alduin's Bane down heavily on the head of the other. It cracked open like a melon and the spawn went down, joining its companion, who had been reduced to rubble by another Ice Spike from Azura.

"What about those three over there?" she asked, breathing hard.

"We deal with them now," Marcus asserted. Sheathing his sword, he was about to draw his bow when he saw the eyebrow Azura lifted in his direction. Sighing, he put the bow away and summoned his magicka, bringing frost into his hands. Surprisingly, it didn't feel freezing to him.

Together, the two companions took out the remaining ash spawn from a distance, and Marcus went over to retrieve the ores and minerals before turning his attention to the Fort proper.

Now that they were inside the gate, he could see the bones of the layout of Fort Frostmoth. No less than six towers surrounded the open bailey, as well as two one-story structures that may once have been barracks or perhaps an armory.

"Where do we start?" Azura asked.

"I'm not sure," Marcus replied honestly. "I'm not even sure what we're looking for."

"Well, I thought we were going to find this General fellow," the Bosmer mage suggested.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "but the guy's supposed to have been dead for a few hundred years. I wouldn't think there'd be anything left of him at this point. Especially if pyroclastic flow blew through here."

"Huh?"

"The ash cloud of the Red Mountain when it blew," Marcus explained. "Super-heated ash and gasses that would have incinerated anyone living here at the time."

"I wasn't here when it happened," Azura said, "but I don't think the island of Solstheim took a direct hit from the explosion. Most of it went straight up, as I understand it."

"The ash cloud still would have collapsed on itself shortly afterwards," Marcus said. "But if the prevailing winds are from the west, as they seem to be, it may have carried most of the pyroclastic flow to the east. Solstheim would have been spared most of the devastation, but not all of it."

"I don't think there's anyone living here now who was here then," Azura nodded. "Most of the settlers came here after the catastrophe. The Skaal were already here, but they live so far north that their territory was spared."

"Well, let's start over here, in this double-towered building," Marcus suggested. "We'll just work our way around and see what we can find."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Azura asked.

"Anything that can tell us more about this General Falx," Marcus replied. "I don't think we're going to trip over the guy, and my gut tells me someone might be masquerading as him. What I'd like to know is why? And what kind of power are they using to create these ash spawn, if they're the one responsible."

They crossed the bailey to the low, two-towered building on the west side of the fort and had to shove the door hard to push it open past all the ash that had collected inside.

They had no sooner come through the door when two ash spawn rose from the drifts around them. Azura used Grave and Marcus wielded Dragonbane, and reduced the enemies to their component parts in short order. To their left, the tower revealed a ramp leading up to a ladder which opened out onto the roof. Deciding to ignore that for now, since he hadn't seen anything moving around up there from his vantage point on the watch tower earlier, Marcus led Azura back into the main part of the building where they had come in. A room opposite the entrance was accessed by two openings, one near each tower. But the space beyond was nearly completely choked with ash. Remnants of burned bedding and end tables, littered with skeletal remains, revealed it had once been some kind of barracks for the unfortunate soldiers who had been stationed here when the Red Mountain erupted.

They left the room untouched and moved into the other tower, descending the flight of steps that led underground. Here there was far less ash, as the subterranean location had offered the troops some form of protection from the initial blast. _It couldn't have shielded them from the poisonous gasses that spewed forth, however,_ Marcus thought to himself.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was a hall with an irregular tunnel to their left, covered in cobwebs, and a gate directly in front of them, separating some kind of storeroom from the rest of the complex. To their right, a short distance away, an iron clad wooden door was closed, adjacent to a tunnel that led further down underground.

"Which way do we go?" Azura asked.

Marcus sighed. Cobwebs usually meant spiders. He was really getting to hate spiders.

"Let's check the tunnel out first," he said reluctantly. For all he knew, it might lead to this General Carius.

But it didn't. It was a dead-end that was populated by more of the leaping, exploding spiders he and Azura had encountered at White Ridge Barrow.

"I _hate_ these things!" Marcus groused when they were finished. He looked more than a little charred, and fired off another healing spell.

"I'll admit I don't like them when they come at me," Azura acknowledged, "but they can still be very useful in a fight." She had gathered a few more of the egg sacs and had put them in her backpack.

"You'd better hope those things don't hatch in the night," Marcus grinned at her.

Azura chuckled. "If that happened, you would see just how high I can leap!" She laughed. "But actually, because these have been magically modified, they'll only hatch if I go back to White Ridge Barrow and use the machine there."

"Good to know," Marcus nodded, feeling more than a little tired. How long since he'd last slept? It had been at the Skaal Village, and he'd only gotten a handful of hours. That had been…yesterday? No, the day before. And so much had happened since then. No wonder he was worn out. But he couldn't stop now. This was not a safe place in which to rest.

"Are you alright?" Azura asked, suddenly concerned. "You looked for a moment like you were miles away."

"Just a bit tired, Azura, that's all," he assured her. "I'm still good to go. Let's get moving."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "We can stop if you like."

"Not here," he insisted. "And not while Miraak can still hijack me in my sleep."

"'Hijack'?"

"Kidnap me," he explained. "I don't want to wake up on the other side of Solstheim. Not when we still have so much to do."

"Alright," she acquiesced doubtfully. She herself didn't need sleep as much as humans did, but even she was feeling weary.

They pushed on.

The storeroom yielded several bottles of ale, wheels of Eider cheese and bowls of moon sugar.

"Oh, my gods," Azura whispered, excitedly. "Look at all these components!"

"For what?" Marcus asked. He had never progressed very far with his alchemy. There had been too many other things to concentrate on. Tamsyn usually handled that part, when he needed anything.

"These make Elsweyr fondue," Azura explained. "It's a very yummy cheese dip the Khajiit developed. Elsweyr fondue helps to regenerate your magicka faster."

"So that's why Tamsyn makes so much of it," Marcus murmured. "I thought she just liked cheese dip."

Sadly, there was no way for Azura to carry all the bottles of ale; Marcus pointed out to her that after all this time, it probably wasn't any good anyway. The Cyrodiilic brandy, however, had only gotten better with time. He carefully tucked those away. The cheese looked dirty and inedible. He would have said 'moldy', as well, but Eider cheese had mold cultures in it anyway, being very similar to the bleu cheese he remembered from his previous life.

The moon sugar, however, was still usable, and Azura packed it carefully away.

Back out in the hall, Marcus and Azura approached the eastern end of the hall. The door ahead of them proved locked and impossible to pick open, though Marcus broke several picks in the attempt. An open tunnel leading further down into the fort lay to their left. A deadfall of tumbled-down stonework blocked what had once been a doorway to their right. A skeleton clutching a knapsack lay partially buried there. In its bony hand was a scrap of parchment. Marcus picked it up and opened it.

"My dearest Selina," the note read, "This is my last letter. I don't know if you'll ever get any of them, but I'll keep them on me in case I'm ever found. Something happened here, Selina. It was horrible. Something's happened at the Red Mountain, but I can't describe it. It's as if hundreds of Oblivion gates opened at once at its summit and it's spitting fire and death in all directions."

The note went on to describe the situation in which the soldier, Maximius Axias, had found himself, trapped underground with no hope of rescue. His last words were of his love for her and their children. The letter was dated the third of Sun's Dawn, year five of the fourth era. There were three other letters in the backpack.

Azura was openly weeping.

"I'll take the letters," she said. "I'll try to find out if any of his descendants live on. They might like to know what happened to their ancestor."

"Thank you, Azura," Marcus said quietly.

There was nothing more they could do, so they left the remains of Maximian untouched and moved on to the tunnel opposite them. This led down into what must have been a morgue when the fort was still active. To the left and right were stone biers upon which wooden coffins rested. Neither of the two companions had any wish to root through the caskets. The room ended a short way to the right, but seemed to go further on to the left, opening into a larger room.

Two more ash spawn attacked them as they entered, and Marcus found his reflexes slowing a bit from fatigue. When they had dispatched the spawn, he dug into his pack and pulled out a couple of stamina potions. They helped, but he knew he would need to sleep soon, whether he wanted to or not.

Two coffins were stacked in the middle of this room, forming a sort of table. There was a backpack leaning against the front that did not look old. Marcus found this curious. In addition, there was a satchel such as he had seen Tamsyn use to store alchemical components sitting on the top casket. It was also not very old. Nor was the journal they found sitting next to it.

"The journal of Ildari Sarothril," Marcus read aloud, and Azura gasped.

"It can't be!" she exclaimed in horror.

"Huh?" Marcus queried. "What do you mean?"

"Ildari's dead! She died over two decades ago!"

Marcus frowned. "This journal doesn't look that old, Azura," he pointed out. "Look here; the last entry was about three months ago."

"That's impossible!" Azura insisted. "I know she died."

"How?" Marcus asked.

Azura scowled. "It was one of Neloth's failed experiments," she said unhappily. "Ildari Sarothril was his apprentice, just before I graduated on to become his assistant. She was there before Talvas. Master Neloth was working on some kind of experiment with heartstones. I don't know the details, because he never shared it with me. It was something he and Ildari worked on together. Anyway, she died during the experiment, and he gave it up. We buried her in the cemetery near Tel Mithryn, and he never spoke of it again, so I never brought it up." She frowned again. "I was still in awe of him then, or too scared to broach the subject." She sighed. "I guess I have you to thank for helping me find my backbone."

Marcus flipped through the journal. "She mentions heartstones in here," he said. "It would appear she tried to reanimate the General using one. She also mentions vengeance, but she doesn't say against whom."

Azura's eyes widened. "Could she be the one to have sent this General against Raven Rock?" She frowned again. "But that doesn't make sense, either. Ildari loved the trips we used to take into town. I can't imagine why she would send ash spawn against it."

"I don't think she's behind the attacks," Marcus said thoughtfully. "Look at this last entry: 'The general is still unable or unwilling to listen to my commands. He's acting increasingly paranoid, and appears to have his own free will…I'm beginning to wonder if someone with a heartstone can be commanded at all.' It sounds like she didn't have any control over him."

"If that's true, then where is she?" Azura wondered.

"My guess is that she high-tailed it out of here when he turned against her," Marcus surmised. "From the sounds of this," he hefted the journal, "she may only have just gotten away with her skin intact."

"So she's still out there somewhere," Azura brooded. "But I still don't understand _how_ she's alive at all. I saw her get buried!"

"We'll have to solve that mystery another time," Marcus told her. "Right now, we need to find this General Carius and put a stop to his attacks on Raven Rock."

"Right," she agreed, packing away the journal. "Is there anything else you want to grab while we're here?"

"I'm not going to loot the coffins, if that's what you mean," Marcus said sourly. "But we might as well take a look in here." He nudged the backpack with his foot and was pleased to hear a hefty _clink_ of coinage inside.

There was also a key.

"Well, now," Marcus grinned. "Things are looking up! I'm betting this opens that door we couldn't get through earlier."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm betting Ildari locked the General in there, to keep him from getting to her," Marcus reasoned. "At least, for long enough to beat feet out of here."

"You have some the strangest expressions," Azura commented.

"Wait until you get to know me better," he chuckled.

He led them back up to the hall at the top of the stairs and fit the key into the lock on the door, grinning as it turned with a satisfying _click._ The door opened to reveal a flight of stone steps headed up, drifted with more ash. The room beyond seemed to have taken the brunt of the blast from the Red Mountain. One stone column had been blown away and shored up with a thick wooden post, braced with a scaffold surrounding it. A short flight of steps beyond and to the right led up to a door that opened to the bailey outside. Arrow slits in the walls were covered in glass, which should have been blown out, but might have been replaced recently, if General Carius had indeed been resurrected by Ildari, as she indicated in her journal.

Ash spawn rose immediately from the drifts around the room, and at the far end, a figure in Imperial armor stood waiting at the ready with the largest warhammer Marcus had ever seen. In that instant he knew there was no way he wanted to get hit by that thing.

But there was no more time to consider this, as the spawn were on them, and General Falx Carius was urging them on.

" _The invaders are here, men!"_ he exhorted them. _"Fight for your lives! Fight for the Empire!"_

"I don't suppose we could talk our way out of this?" Azura suggested as she brought ice magic into her hands.

"I get the feeling Ildari may already have tried that and failed," Marcus said grimly. "Watch yourself!" He bellowed his Unrelenting Force at their opponents and watched with satisfaction as the spawn were blown to the far end of the room. The General staggered, but stood his ground, and Marcus was impressed in spite of himself.

"I've got the General," he called to Azura. "Can you handle the spawn?"

"I've got your back!" she assured him.

"That's all I need to know," he smiled ferally, and launched himself into his attack routine. Dodging the warhammer wasn't very different from dodging any other large, heavy weapon, but the General wielded it one-handed, with the ease of long practice, and Marcus realized quickly he may have underestimated his foe. It was alarming how fast that huge mallet came at him.

After living in Skyrim for nearly five years, Marcus had by now developed an interesting style of fighting that combined his skills with his blades as well as his knowledge of tae kwon do, and his abilities as Dragonborn to use the _thu'um._ As soon as the tightness in his throat eased, he used his Disarm Shout to try and dislodge the cudgel from the General's hands.

But the General was stronger than Marcus anticipated and kept his grip. Undaunted, the Dragonborn kept up his feints and slashes while staying out of the path of the warhammer until he could Shout again. This time he used Marked for Death, to soften up his enemy. But he couldn't tell if it affected the deranged commander or not, and for a moment, Marcus wondered if the heartstone had anything to do with the General's seemingly super-human strength. The General took advantage of the Dragonborn's distraction.

The massive mattock whistled through the air, and Marcus felt chilled to the bone as it clipped him across the back of his head when he belatedly tumbled out of the way. The ground rushed up to meet him as he face-planted into the stone floor, seeing stars. Dimly he heard Azura yell at him, but he couldn't make sense of her words. Pain lanced through him again as the General strove to crush him into the dust he choked on. The spiked end of the hammer cleaved through his dragonbone armor and bit deeply into the muscles of his back. Electricity raced through his body from the impact, and he suddenly realized there was more than one enchantment on the weapon. He was in serious trouble, he knew, as he rolled over to face his opponent.

It was too soon to Shout again, and Marcus doubted he could have drawn in a deep enough breath to do so. The warhammer descended again, and Marcus put up Alduin's Bane to block it. To his horror, the dragonbone blade snapped and was ripped from his hand. Now he only had the Akaviri blade, Dragonbane, between him and the meat tenderizer General Carius was using.

The Imperial commander raised his weapon again to strike the killing blow, and Marcus channeled all his inner magicka into an Ice Spike, skewering the General right between the eyes. General Carius staggered back, clawing at his face, giving Marcus the opportunity to kip up back onto his feet, though he was breathing hard now.

Quickly sheathing Dragonbane he began to poke, jab and pummel the General with his martial arts maneuvers, targeting what would be, on a living person, the central nervous system. It should work, Marcus felt, since the General wasn't technically an undead, but a resurrected person.

The results were less than satisfying. Ordinarily, the pressure points Marcus targeted would have seized up, but again, it seemed the heartstone gave Carius stamina and fortitude far beyond those of ordinary mortals. He recovered too quickly for Marcus' tastes and brought up the warhammer once more.

Tumbling to one side to avoid the attack, Marcus shot off another Ice Spike, catching the General in the arm that held the cudgel. It trembled slightly, and Marcus smiled grimly. By now he was dimly aware that the ash spawn were fewer, and that Azura was taking care of them. It allowed him to concentrate on the job at hand.

Cupping his hands together, Marcus dual-cast another Ice Spike to the General's midsection before scrambling to get out of the way of the warhammer. General Carius staggered again, and this time dropped to one knee. Not even pausing to take a breath, Marcus launched one Ice Spike after the other at his foe, until finally the Imperial went down and lay still, to rise no more.

It was quiet in the tower. The ash spawn were gone, only their glittering remains left to show where they had expired. Marcus sank to his knees, feeling beaten and battered.

"Holy crap, that was hard!" he muttered.

"You did very well," Azura assured him as she came up, healing energy radiating from her hands. This time, he let her cure him. He was tapped out of magicka, and weary to the bone.

"I'm going to have to learn something stronger than Ice Spikes," he chuckled. "That took far longer than I liked."

Azura smiled. "I can show you some of the higher level Destruction spells," she offered. "But they cost more magicka to cast. You might only get one fired off before you'd have to resort to your Shouts or your blades."

"That's a trade-off I'm willing to take," he nodded. He got unsteadily to his feet and looked around. Alduin's Bane lay in several pieces, scattered around the tower. "Damn!" he exclaimed. "He really did a number on this. I killed Alduin with that sword. Well…that one and this one," he qualified, hefting Dragonbane.

"Can you fix it?" Azura asked, a worried frown on her forehead.

"No," Marcus replied sadly, gathering up the pieces he could find. "I can't create anything new from dragon bones or scales yet. This," he added, gesturing with the pieces, "this can't be 'fixed.' It would have to be forged anew. It's something that will have to wait until I return to Skyrim and talk to Balimund. He's the smith who made this for me."

"I'm sorry, Marcus," Azura said, laying a hand on his arm. "I wish I could help, but I really know nothing about smithing. I just use what I find."

"It's okay, Azura," Marcus shrugged. "I still have Dragonbane; I have my Shouts, and I'm getting better with the spells. I'll manage. But I'm taking that damned warhammer with me. That sonovabitch _hurt!"_

It was heavier than he expected, wrapped in red leather near the head, and embossed with the Imperial symbol of the dragon within a diamond. Carved into the shaft were the words, _Champion's Cudgel._ Marcus rigged it into a sort of harness on his back, next to his bow, but he knew he was quickly becoming burdened with things that either needed to be sold, or placed in a secure location to retrieve later.

"Did you want to stop and rest?" Azura asked him, concerned. She could see that his slow movements had nothing to do with the weight he carried. He looked exhausted.

"Not here," Marcus insisted. "I think I saw Tel Mithryn when I was on top of the watchtower earlier. How far away is it from here?"

"Not that far," Azura assured him. "We could get there in an hour, maybe less."

"Let's head there first, then," he said. "I know you're not on the best terms with Neloth, but he did say he might have some information for me, and maybe he'll let me rest there for a bit."

"Alright," she agreed. "And as for Neloth, I don't think he'll even remember I'm mad at him. It might take me a few times reminding him that I no longer work for him, but he should still let you stay there. The hospitality of the Telvanni wizards might not be warm, but he's not going to turn you away. That would just be in poor taste."

"I'm wondering if we shouldn't head back to Raven Rock, though," Marcus mused. "We did promise to let Captain Veleth know what was going on here."

"It's your decision," Azura said. "But it's actually closer to Tel Mithryn than it is to Raven Rock. And the Sun Stone is close by there, as well. Once you've had a chance to rest, we can go up to the Sun Stone and free it, then travel back to the Skaal, freeing the Beast Stone on the way, and finishing up with the Wind Stone near their village."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus agreed. "Let's do that. I'll talk to Captain Veleth tomorrow or the next day, then, when I get back to Raven Rock."

Nothing further bothered them on their way to Tel Mithryn, Marcus was grateful to see. And while the distance as the dragon flies was the same to either Neloth's residence or Raven Rock, there were more hills and ridges west of their location than there were east, in the direction of the mushroom town. They walked into Tel Mithryn when the sun was already up to see Talvas outside, reading something aloud from a book.

"Isn't that Master Neloth's book?" Azura asked him, curious.

"He knows I have it," Talvas said quickly, snapping the book shut. "No need to bother him about it. Besides, he's not even here!"

"Not here?" Azura blinked. "I thought he was headed back this way when I left him in Raven Rock."

"He was here, briefly," a Dunmer woman said, coming down the root towards them. "He said he needed to confirm something over in Nchardak. Welcome back, Azura," she smiled. "Who's your friend?"

Azura quickly introduced Marcus to Neloth's Steward, Varona Nelas, and requested hospitality for the short time they would be there. Permission was warmly granted before Varona turned to glare at Talvas. "Why are you out here?" she demanded. "Master Neloth is away. Aren't you supposed to stay in the tower?"

Talvas drew himself up to his full five feet, six inches in height and stuck out his chin. "If you must know, I'm trying to get this Ash Guardian spell to work. Now let me concentrate. Besides, shouldn't you be worrying about the damage to the tower?"

"Master Neloth has tasked Elynea with repairing the tower. Why aren't you doing this in the lab, where it would be safer for all of us?"

"The, uh…the lab is too small," Talvas said defensively. "Also, I need the ashy soil. Master Neloth told me to practice this spell while he's away. No need to tell him about it when he gets back. He knows all about this."

"It's on your head if something goes wrong," Varona scowled. "Just let us get inside first. Come with me," she said to Marcus and Azura, and led them inside.

Marcus remembered the unique mode of entering Tel Mithryn from his last visit with Enthir. This time he didn't hesitate, but stepped onto the platform and felt himself lifted into the air, to be gently deposited on the landing above.

"Talvas said something about damage to the tower?" Azura asked Varona as she showed them to an alcove with a bed where Marcus could sleep.

"Yes," Varona said. "It's just over there. You can see the withering from here."

"Oh, yes," Azura said, concerned. "What's caused it?"

"We don't know," Varona replied, shrugging. "Elynea is supposed to be looking into it." She patted her hand fondly on the wall next to her. "The poor old girl has been through a lot lately. Hopefully Elynea will be able to cure her soon."

She left them to get some rest, and Azura turned to Marcus. "I think you should be able to sleep soundly here," she told him. "I never had any problems waking up somewhere else, and neither has Talvas or Master – I mean, Neloth. Sometimes Elynea or Varona would be gone when we woke up, and would come back hours later, dazed and confused. But they don't sleep in the tower itself. I think she protects us."

"You speak of this giant mushroom as if it's alive," Marcus mused.

"She is!" Azura said. "She's very much alive, and even if we can't communicate with her, she has a sort of sentience of her own, similar to the trees in Valenwood. In any case, try to get some sleep. Perhaps Neloth will be back when you wake up."

Marcus said nothing, but nodded, and laid himself down on the spare bed Varona had provided for him. Before his eyes closed, he saw Azura retreat to an alcove across the way from him that she clearly had used while she lived here. Then he gave himself up to a blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up, Marcus and Azura resume their trek to free the standing stones from Miraak's influence. A trip back to Tel Mithryn, to consult with Neloth, leads to delving into an ancient Dwemer ruin. And Tamsyn has been doing some research of her own, to find her way back to the realm of Nirn.]_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _[Author's Note: I hope you'll forgive the long delay between chapters. I'm working every day that I don't have class. Yes, I've gone back to college after a forty-year absence to re-learn the Spanish I thought I knew and have never used since. Between housework, homework and work that I actually get paid to do, I don't have much time to work on this, but I'm going to keep plugging away at it._

 _To Guest reviewer Amylea, don't worry. I haven't ended the story yet. I'm not done telling it, but it might not come as quickly as I had hoped. Thank you for staying with me.]_

* * *

" _It's going to be awfully difficult for me to pass along advice if you don't sleep more often, Dragonborn," Julianos scolded him._

 _He was dreaming again. Or at least, he was asleep, and Julianos was using this opportunity to contact him._

" _I'm sorry," Marcus apologized. "I didn't know you were trying to reach me."_

" _You would have if you would just sleep," the god of Magic and Wisdom grumbled._

" _Why hasn't Akatosh contacted me, then?" Marcus asked. "He's never had trouble before."_

" _Let's just say the others are accusing him of showing favoritism and leave it at that," Julianos smirked. "He's giving you a chance to prove you can be Dragonborn without his assistance."_

" _But you're here, helping me," Marcus couldn't help but point out._

 _Julianos frowned. "Only because a Daedric Prince decided to make off with my daughter," he glared. "I'm not going to sit back and take that lying down. Do you want my help or don't you?"_

" _Of course I do!" Marcus soothed. "I meant no disrespect."_

" _Alright, then, listen up," the Aedra told him, somewhat mollified. "You have the Black Book, 'Waking Dreams,' correct?"_

" _Yeah, it's packed in my backpack," Marcus nodded._

" _Good," Julianos said, satisfied. "You'll need it to confront Miraak when the time comes. Don't go to face him unless you've learned all three parts of the Dragon Aspect Shout. Bend Will will help, also. You'll need that to overbear the dragons who obey Miraak."_

" _Where can I find those Shouts?" Marcus asked._

 _Julianos gave him a steady look. "Where do you ever find Shouts, Dragonborn? Use the knowledge you have learned so far. I can't reveal everything. And find the other Black Books; there are six more. Hermaeus Mora has hidden Tamsyn in one of them. I have not been able to determine which one, so you'll have to find them all. One of them is in White Ridge Barrow. That much I do know."_

" _White Ridge Barrow?" Marcus blinked. "But Azura and I were just there. I never found a Black Book there."_

" _It's there," Julianos insisted. "Hermaeus Mora may be cheating by hiding its location from plain view, but it's there. Search the Books and find my daughter. Then find a way to bring her back to Nirn. Understood?"_

" _I understand," Marcus assured him. "What about the sacred Stones?"_

" _They have little to do with my daughter," Julianos acknowledged, "but if you're freeing them from Miraak's corruption, it will help to weaken him and make it easier for me to contact you. Just don't attempt to cleanse the Tree Stone in Miraak's Temple. That was the first one he ensnared, and the one over which he has the strongest hold. You won't be able to free it until you defeat Miraak."_

" _Got it," Marcus nodded. "Thanks for the advice."_

" _You're welcome, Dragonborn." Julianos smiled sadly before adding, "Just find my daughter. Please."_

* * *

The worst part of being trapped in Apocrypha, Tamsyn thought, wasn't that she couldn't just leave. It was frustrating that she couldn't return to Nirn by the same method used to bring her here. She didn't have a copy of the _Oghma Infinium_ with her. No, the worst part was seeing all the books, and knowing that some were still legible. Knowing that some might contain useful knowledge once lost made her heart sink and her soul weep. But she could not afford the time it would take to look through _everything._ She needed to find a way out, and the only way she knew of was through a Black Book – specifically, through the _Oghma –_ and she was fairly certain a copy of it had to be here in this nightmarish maze of forgotten lore. Every book that had ever been written in Nirn had a shadow of itself here. Since the _Oghma_ had been written by Xarxes himself, as dictated to by Hermaeus Mora himself, there _had_ to be a copy of it around here somewhere. If she could find it, she could escape.

The problem was that she wasn't exactly sure _where_ in Apocrypha Hermaeus Mora had plopped her down. One place looked pretty much like the other, with the stacks of ruined books towering over her head, creating alcoves, walls, tunnels and chambers. What wasn't covered in tattered books and remnants of paper flapping in the breeze was either the inky ooze of primordial soup that surrounded everything at a base level, or was covered over and encased in a sort of wrought-iron filigree work, like an old fence surrounding a Victorian mansion. If she was outside this structure, she might be able to fly to some other location. As it was, she was forced to plod her way through the maze of tattered stacks and hope she wouldn't just run around in circles.

Her first encounter with a Seeker nearly stopped her heart. She had rounded a corner and blundered right into one. She had neither heard it nor seen it until it suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Bringing up her hands and charging them with electricity, Tamsyn waited for it to make the first move, but it ignored her and moved on to another stack of books nearby, seeking and searching for something.

"Well, that's odd," Tamsyn mused aloud. "Why didn't you attack me?"

It was the same with the Lurkers. When one of them rose up out of the sludge pool in a broad, well-lit chamber, Tamsyn had instantly gone into a crouch. She didn't sneak very well, despite having crawled through Mzulft with Cicero, and Labyrinthian with Marcus. She tended to use her Muffle spell if she needed to go unnoticed.

But the Lurker merely patrolled the perimeter of the room and barely gave Tamsyn a second look as she sank back into her pool.

"That's so strange," Tamsyn puzzled. "It's almost as though they think I'm one of them."

The thought chilled her to the bone. If she didn't find a way out of here, she might very well join their ranks. Perhaps Hermaeus Mora had already considered it a foregone conclusion, and had ordered his minions not to molest her. It was scant comfort.

Nevertheless, she forged ahead, moving from one tunnel to the next, one chamber to another, knowing full well that things tended to move around in Apocrypha. For all she knew, she might have tread these exact same steps an hour earlier, but the walls and stacks of books might have moved.

"If I could just get to one of the areas in the Black Books," she thought, irritated. There were certain parts of Apocrypha which remained stable as the Dragonborn passed through them in the game; that much she knew. She just needed to find such a place, to get her bearings. And if, along the way, she managed to find a book she didn't already have in the vast Arcanaeum back home, well, that was just a bonus.

* * *

Marcus awoke momentarily confused. The fibrous walls which surrounded him gave off an earthy, musty smell, and at first thought he'd gone to sleep in a cave. Then he looked across the chamber and saw Varona and Azura chatting quietly at a table on the other side of the room. They both looked up as he approached.

"Sleep well?" Varona asked him politely.

"Yes, I did," he replied. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"It's no trouble at all," Varona smiled. "It's a good thing Master Neloth was away. I'm sure he would have let you stay, regardless, but he might have insisted on trying out a few experiments on you first!" She shuddered and rose from the table. "I need to speak with Ulves. I'll leave you two to break your fast, or have some luncheon, whichever you prefer. I'll make sure he brings something good up here for you."

"Thank you again, Varona!" Azura beamed. "It was good catching up with you again."

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Azura," the Dunmer Steward nodded. "Take care!"

She jumped lightly down from the landing and they heard the soft _thud_ as she hit the ground below, followed by the front door opening and closing behind her.

"So you have a good morning, then?" Azura asked Marcus now.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Something…came to me in my dreams I wanted to ask you about," he continued.

"Of course," Azura replied. "What did you want to know?"

"It's about the Black Books," Marcus said. "You mentioned there were six of them?"

Azura nodded. "You already have one. Master Neloth has one, also, over there in that barred alcove." She pointed across the room and Marcus could just make out a familiar black cover beyond the thorny barrier that protected it.

"I think that one must be number seven, actually. So that means there are five more of them out there," he mused. "Any idea where they might be?"

Azura shook her head. "No, I have no idea. They're Daedric artifacts, after all. Their locations would be a mystery known only to scholars, like Neloth, who have made a study of such things. Or you might just be lucky enough to run across one by accident, as we did with the one you found."

Marcus considered this. "Any chance they could be…moved around? I mean, by Hermaeus Mora himself?"

Azura shot him a keen look. "What are you getting at, Marcus? What makes you think there are seven Books, and not six?"

"I'm just wondering if we missed one somewhere," he finished. It sounded lame even to his own ears.

Azura sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "Why don't you tell me what you 'dreamed', Marcus? That might go a long way toward helping me answer your questions."

Marcus hesitated. If Azura knew of his and Tamsyn's origins, it might put her at risk from Hermaeus Mora himself. As far as he knew, only a handful of people knew the truth, and he didn't like expanding that pool.

"Alright," he said carefully. "I dreamed I was speaking with Julianos. He wanted me to find the Books, and he told me there were seven of them."

"The god of Knowledge himself?" Azura asked, wide-eyed. "You don't fool around when you dream, do you?"

"Go big or go home," Marcus chuckled, in spite of hating himself for the deception. He told himself he was only trying to protect Azura. She was older than him, but it was like having a kid sister all over again, and he liked her too much to let something happen to her through him.

"What else did Julianos say in your dream?" Azura queried, her voice laced with eagerness.

"He told me I'd find one in White Ridge Barrow," Marcus admitted. "But we were just up there the day before yesterday, and we didn't find it."

The Bosmer girl considered this for several minutes. Finally she spoke, slowly, as if figuring it out in her own mind. "If we were there, and the Book wasn't," she mused, "and then you have a dream that tells you to go there…" She looked up at Marcus. "It's possible the Book wasn't there, and Hermaeus Mora put it there after we left, assuming we wouldn't be back."

"Or that he disguised the place where it's hidden so we couldn't find it," Marcus suggested.

"That's possible, too," she agreed, then blew out a sigh. "Well, we'll just have to go back and have one more look. I know you said it was just a dream, Marcus, but this is something too big to ignore. It's very possible the Aedra are trying to help you in their own way."

 _You have no idea,_ he thought to himself. Again, the sting of deception speared him. If there was any way of revealing his secrets to her without Hermaeus Mora finding out, he would do it. As it was, he kept his thoughts to himself and asked her when she wanted to continue their journey.

"After we've eaten, certainly," she grinned, unaware of his inner turmoil. "Ulves is a very good cook, even if Neloth thinks he can't make the perfect cup of canis root tea. I don't think many people live up to Neloth's standards."

"Is there any place to sell things around here?" he asked.

"Well, there's Elynea, next door," Azura considered. "She'll buy your unwanted poisons and potions. "There's also Revus Sarvani."

"Who's he?"

"He takes care of the silt-strider just over the ridge to the northwest," Azura explained. "He's a sort of general merchant. He'll buy and trade anything."

"Silt-strider?" Marcus asked. "Was that the gigantic flea we saw coming in here yesterday?"

Azura giggled. "That would be Dusty, and yes, she's a silt-strider. Revus can tell you all about her, if you're interested."

"As long as he's willing to buy some of the things we've picked up," Marcus grinned, "I'll let him talk about her all he wants. My problem is I'm not sure what to do about some of the other things I want to hang onto, like that Champion's Cudgel. It's huge and heavy, and I really don't want to be lugging it all over this sandbox. Especially if I have to find other Black Books. Those bastards are heavy, too!"

"I have a chest here," Azura said. "There's not much in it right now. I tend to live very frugally. If I ever got a place of my own, that would be different. You're welcome to store whatever you want to keep there until you return to Skyrim."

Marcus gave her a smile. "Thanks, Azura! That will help a lot!"

After their midday meal, Marcus stored some things in Azura's footlocker before the two went to see Elynea Mothren, so that Marcus could sell off the potions and poisons he knew he'd never use. He purchased more healing potions from the Dunmer apothecary – "Mycologist," she insisted on being called – and ended up promising to take some taproots up to a river near the Skaal village to dip them in the headwaters of the river nearby – the Harstrad, she told him.

"Hopefully once I have them I can cure that mysterious blight on Tel Mithryn," she groused. "Not that Master Neloth will appreciate what I go through for him."

Over by the silt-strider, Azura introduced Marcus to Revus Sarvani, who indeed, did regale Marcus with his knowledge of Dusty's unusual background and purpose.

"Silt-striders were mostly used for transporting goods and people," he told Marcus. "They were pretty commonplace in Morrowind, but that was ages ago. I've had Dusty here since she was a larva. Found her cocoon in a small cave on Vvardenfell and I've had her ever since. Feels like a lifetime ago now." He smiled sadly. "She hasn't been in traveling condition for quite a while now. I've tried to let her go off on her own, but she insists on staying here."

Marcus was able to sell off the few pieces of weapons and armor he had picked up that he knew he would never use. Revus had a few more healing potions that Marcus was able to purchase, and a small crystal-like formation that the Dunmer trader told him was a Kagrumez gem.

"Anything special about it?" Marcus inquired.

"I've heard tell there's a sort of gauntlet to be run in the Dwemer ruins of Kagrumez," Revus told him. "You're supposed to have several of these gems just to get into the place, but I only ever found the one, and it's no good to me now. I'm too old to go adventuring anymore. I'll let you have it for a fair price."

The lure of another mystery was too much for Marcus, and against his better instincts, he bought the crystal.

From there they proceeded north to the Sunstone and Marcus Shouted at it, scattering the Dunmer and the Reavers who had all been enthralled to work on encasing the sacred stone with scaffolding. The Reavers and Dunmer workers rallied, however, and valiantly helped to fight the tar creatures that arose from the pool. When the fighting was over, they regarded each other warily – and the Reavers sized up the Dragonborn – before each went their separate ways. Marcus and Azura continued further north to the Beast Stone.

"Lather, rinse, repeat," Marcus remarked with a wry smile. Azura gave him another long look, but said nothing. She was becoming used to the Dragonborn's odd way of speaking by now.

At the Beast Stone there were fewer workers, and most of these were rieklings who melted back into the hills behind the stone as soon as they were freed. Marcus and Azura had to fight the two creatures that emerged almost on their own. It took longer, and two of the Dunmer workers died trying to escape the wrath of the she-daedra. Azura was disheartened, and Marcus was grimly determined not to let it happen again at the Wind Stone. It was an easy promise to make, but he didn't know if he could keep it. When the laborers were freed from their enchantment, they very often were disoriented, and as happened with the two unfortunate souls at the Beast Stone, they might easily blunder into the path of one of the daedra-spawn.

By this time it was getting late once more, but Marcus insisted they push on to the Wind Stone.

"I want to finish this as soon as possible," he told his companion.

Azura frowned. "But what about the Tree Stone?" she asked. "The one in Miraak's Temple?"

"He's got too strong a hold on it right now," Marcus said. "We'll have to wait on that one. Hopefully freeing the others will be enough to stop the enthrallings and keep the Skaal safe."

"Is 'enthrallings' even a word?" Azura asked doubtfully as they skirted the edge of a frozen lake.

"It is now," Marcus chuckled.

They headed directly to the Wind Stone before going to the Skaal Village. The she-creatures they fought here were tougher than any Marcus had seen yet, and one of them back-handed him so hard he saw stars. The Skaal, freed from the enchantment laid upon them, fought ferociously, with two of them standing over Marcus until he could clear his head and regain his feet. Azura was cornered by two of the spawn and was forced to form a flame cloak around herself to hold them off.

Between their acid-spitting tentacles and their earth-shaking stomping attacks, the creatures were formidable foes. One of the Skaal went down, and Azura managed to break free long enough to shoot a healing spell off before turning back to face down the monster lumbering toward her.

Marcus, on his feet once more, had a clear shot at the two menacing the Bosmer mage and sent forth a volley of his Unrelenting Force. Everything in its path was blown away – except the two hell-spawn. They never so much as staggered.

"Crap!" he swore. "It doesn't affect them!"

"Plan B, Marcus!" Azura called as she dodged a swipe from one massive paw. "Plan B!"

 _Do I even have a Plan B?_ he questioned himself. _Shouts aren't working, Azura's already tried frost spells, and magic in general doesn't seem to affect them that much. Just physical weapons._

But he couldn't take the time to figure it out. Azura was getting cornered again, and another Skaal warrior had gone down. He wasn't sure the woman would rise again. Grimly he channeled his inner magicka. Frost hadn't worked, fire was only marginally better.

"Let's see how they like electricity," he mused aloud. Cupping his hands he sent out the strongest Lightning Bolt he could muster, and watched with satisfaction as the creature he hit suddenly turned to face him, ignoring the wood elf mage.

"That's right, Princess," he cajoled, "come on over here. Prince Dragonborn is asking for your hand…or your head, whichever."

With Alduin's Bane in pieces at the bottom of Azura's chest back in Tel Mithryn, Marcus was at a distinct disadvantage in his preferred fighting style. But he hadn't been idle the past five years. Since joining the Companions he had made it a point to learn to fight with any weapon, or the lack of one. Azura's coaching in magic had been invaluable, and he had gained a new appreciated for spellswords like Marcurio who fought with a melee weapon in one hand and a spell in the other.

Now he dodged and tumbled as he struck out with the Akaviri blade, or launched an electrical attack at every opening the terrifying behemoth gave him. It was slower, and from the tail of his eye he saw one of the daedra-spawn go down under the axes of the Skaal. Two of them headed his way to assist him, and the others went to help Azura.

The Bosmer mage launched another spell at the one facing her, and it stiffened suddenly, going rigid, and toppled over into the pool. The rising and falling of its chest told her it was still alive.

"Ha _ha!"_ she crowed. "I found its weak spot!" She left the paralyzed creature to the Skaal, who swiftly finished it off while she charged across the pond to Marcus and sent another of the same spell towards the monster beating down on the warriors helping Marcus. The she-devil, just like her ugly step-sister, toppled over, stiff as a board.

"What did you do to it?" Marcus asked ask the two Skaal took care of their foe.

"Paralysis spell!" Azura gloated triumphantly. "I kept trying different things until I found one that worked!"

"That's good to know," Marcus grinned, "in case we have to fight any more of these things. Can you teach it to me?"

Azura pondered this for a moment. "I can," she said finally. "But it's an Expert-level spell. You might not have enough magicka to be able to cast it."

Marcus frowned. "Damn. Well, teach it to me anyway," he suggested. "I might as well learn it now, even it I can't cast it. And I believe there are potions that can give me additional magicka, for a short time."

Azura nodded. "There are," she acknowledged. "We'll have to look into making some. We have a lichen here, Emperor Parasol Moss, that I've experimented with. I've good results with it since extending the magicka pool seems to be one of its properties. We'd just need one other ingredient."

"I'm not really that good at alchemy," Marcus admitted. "I know enough to get by, but my potions aren't that strong. I usually end up combining the wrong things and ending up with something nasty as a result."

"Aren't you glad I came along then?" the Bosmer girl grinned smugly.

The Skaal were heading back to their village, and Marcus and Azura fell into step behind them. The first thing they noticed was that the magical barrier Storn and his people had erected around the village was gone. Everyone seemed to be going on about their daily lives, and the few Skaal who had returned from the Wind Stone were welcomed joyfully back.

Marcus found Storn and Frea sitting outside a small hut near the main mead hall.

"Storn," Marcus greeted him, "we did it. We freed the stones."

"All except the Tree Stone," Azura said. "We…couldn't release that one." She didn't look at Marcus as she said it, and he appreciated her discretion. It was difficult enough trying to explain his close connections to the gods of this world.

"The air is different," Storn smiled, breathing deeply. "We are safe, now, thanks to the two of you, Dragonborn and Azura," he added with a nod of acknowledgement to her contribution in the effort. "You have both succeeded in keeping Miraak at bay, and for this we name you both 'Skaal-friend.'"

Azura gave a small gasp of pleasure, and Marcus realized this was as significant as Jarl Balgruuf naming him Thane of Whiterun. He felt honored, but at the same time he knew the job wasn't finished.

"This isn't going to stop him from trying again," he frowned. "I don't much like the idea that in another generation or so, when I'm no longer around, that he might try again. And there might not be anyone around who can stop him next time."

"That is why it falls to you to prevent this, Dragonborn," Storn nodded solemnly. "It is a heavy burden to bear, but the All-Maker would not give you this burden, if He did not think you could manage it."

"So how do I get to him?" Marcus asked. "The last time I saw him, he paralyzed me and booted me out of his realm."

"Hmm," Storn mused. "You found him through one of Herma-Mora's Black Books, did you not?" he asked. At their nods, Storn gave a deep sigh. "Then it is through those Black Books that you must seek him. Speak with the Dunmer wizard, Neloth, at Tel Mithryn. He is more knowledgeable about such things than I. He was here, less than a year ago, and showed me the one he keeps in his possession. He asked me many questions about its nature, but I was unable to enlighten him."

"So that's where he went," Azura muttered. "I wondered about that. He found the Book, then he was gone for several days." Her eyes opened wide, two pools of deep amber. "You don't think he actually opened it, do you?"

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Marcus drawled. "That sort of thing seems to be right up his alley."

Azura let the unfamiliar phrase pass. She understood the reference, and that was enough. "We should head back to Tel Mithryn, then," she urged. "Neloth might be back by now."

But Marcus shook his head. "Not until we find the Book in White Ridge Barrow," he said. "And I also want to go back to Raven Rock and let Captain Veleth know about General Falx."

Azura subsided. "You're right, of course. When did you want to leave?"

"Not too soon, I hope," a new voice said from behind them.

Marcus and Azura turned to see a tall, imposing, middle-aged Nord woman standing a few feet away. Dimly, Marcus remembered seeing her at the Wind Stone before all Oblivion broke loose when he Shouted at it. She had been one of the enthralled Skaal, who had stayed to help fight the tar-creatures.

"I'm Fanari Strong-Voice," she said, extending her hand. "I'm the Chief of the Skaal, and you have my thanks for helping my people."

"I'm glad we could help, Chief Fanari," Marcus smiled, shaking her hand. She had a strong grip.

"It's just 'Fanari,'" the woman smirked. "We don't stand on ceremony here in the Village. I came to invite you both to a meal and a place to sleep tonight at the mead hall. It's the least I can do to thank you for rescuing myself and my people."

Marcus glanced at Azura, who gave him a slight shrug. It was his decision, the gesture told him. While he wanted to find Tamsyn as soon as possible, he would not reject an offer of hospitality.

 _My mother raised me better than that,_ he remembered fondly.

"We'd be delighted to accept," he told Fanari.

It was one of the more pleasant evenings he'd spent since coming to Solstheim. Fanari told him more about the Skaal, and had an opinion on just about everything.

"I was chosen by the people of the village when our last leader, Skaf the Giant, departed the cold world to join the All-Maker," she said. "I suppose I've always spoken my mind and tried to do what's best for the Skaal. That's why the others call me 'Strong-Voice.'"

When Azura asked if they had many dealings with the Skaal of Thirsk Mead Hall, Fanari frowned. "Those idiots! I would hardly call them 'Skaal,'" she spat. "They have drifted so far away from the All-Maker, it's no wonder they lost their mead hall to rieklings. Now they sit, huddled in their camp down near the shore, drinking mead and making plans that will never come to fruition. Only when they remember where they came from will they finally regain what they've lost. Until then, they whine and moan about their hard luck!"

"I'd like to know more about the Skaal," Marcus said. "What is it that sets you apart from the Nords of Skyrim?"

Fanari shrugged. "We live as one with the land," she explained, "for the land provides all that we need. Also, like the Nords of old, we embrace the All-Maker. We do not worship the nine gods of the Empire."

"I'm not familiar with the All-Maker," Marcus admitted. "Who is he?"

"That's a question for Storn," Fanari smiled. "He is our shaman, and can explain it better than I can."

Storn chuckled from across the fire. "You are an outsider, Dragonborn," he said gently. "I don't know if I can make you understand, but I will try. The All-Maker is the maker of all things, and it is from the All-Maker that life flows like a great river. As all rivers must return to the sea, so all life returns in time to the All-Maker. As Shaman of Skaal Village, I serve as both guide and healer, as well as a keeper of traditions. I also remind the Skaal to live as one with nature, and to honor the will of the All-Maker, so that we'll be worthy to join him in death. I know our ways must seem strange to you, but the nine gods of the Empire are equally strange to us."

"It's not so strange," Marcus smiled, thinking of Native Americans. "Where I came from, there were those whose beliefs were similar to yours. They were deeply connected to the land, and everything it represented to them, and served as its protectors."

"Truly?" Storn breathed. "Then perhaps the All-Maker is recognized in other parts of Tamriel."

Marcus thought it wise to hold his tongue at this point.

"What did Neloth want from you when he came here?" Azura asked the shaman.

"He asked me what I knew of Herma-Mora," Storn admitted. "He also asked me about the Black Books, but I could tell him little. Our traditions do not speak of them. But they and Miraak are connected. You, Dragonborn," he continued, turning to Marcus. "You read a Black Book, and you saw Miraak. And the Book's power comes from the same dark source as that which corrupted the Wind Stone. But beware." Here the old man's face grew somber in the flickering firelight of the central pit. "You are now walking the same path as Miraak."

"But I'm not Miraak," Marcus said firmly. "From what I've been able to put together, Miraak attempted to break away from his dragon overlords and set himself up as Lord and Master of his own kingdom. Frea told us he was defeated by someone known as the Guardian."

"Ah, yes!" Storn smiled, his eyes lighting up as they settled on his daughter. "I'm glad to see she remembers some of the teaching stories."

"Did they really rip the land apart?" Azura asked skeptically. "I thought the Red Mountain did that."

"No," Storn said, shaking his head. "Solstheim was an island long before the Red Mountain exploded. It was torn from the mainland of Morrowind during the great battle between Vahlok the Jailer and Miraak himself."

"Would you tell us the story, Storn?" Fanari asked with a smile. "Some of the younger ones here, as well as our two honored guests, may not have heard it yet."

"My voice is not what it used to be," Storn demurred with a careworn sigh, "but I will be happy to relate the tale once more."

Everyone around the central fire made themselves comfortable as the old man began to speak, in a quavering, hesitant tone at first, as though self-conscious of relating a familiar story to complete strangers. But soon it became stronger and more confident as his tale unfolded, and Marcus found himself getting caught up in the legend.

"Miraak was once a great and proud Dragon Priest," Storn began, "who served the dragons in the time before recorded history. What we know of him – the little that we do – has been handed down from shaman to shaman among the Skaal, so that we may never forget how power corrupts, nor the insidious treachery of Herma-Mora, the demon of hidden, secret knowledge.

"Long have the Skaal kept our traditions and lore from him, and as time has gone by he has ever and always attempted to learn our secrets, by guile and trickery, by persuasion or by force. But we Skaal have remained resolute. He is our great Enemy, and we will have no dealings with him.

"But to return to my story, Miraak once served the great Dragon Lords, making offerings and sacrifices to them, twisting and corrupting the people of the land into mindless drones, unable to think for themselves. All the riches of the land were brought to the great Temple, north of the fiery mountain the dark elves called Vvardenfell, the Red Mountain.

"Miraak and others like him worshipped the dragons as gods, and disregarded the ways of the All-Maker. He destroyed the forests that once grew thickly in this region, and corrupted the land with his machines of industry—"

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Marcus broke in. "But did you say he had industrial-type machines?"

"Indeed," Storn nodded. "Much like the deep elves, the Dwemer, the Dragon Priests presided over the cult of dragon-worshippers, who lorded it over the people of the land, the Skaal and the ones who would become the dark elves, the Chimer. There were Falmer in those days as well – tall, beautiful and terrible snow elves with skin as pale as the drifts on the high hills around us. As Miraak grew in power, he forced the people of the land to work in his mills and his mines, enthralling them in much the same manner as my people have been, until recently."

"What happened to the machines?" Marcus asked, his mind reeling. Was Tamriel possibly a post-apocalyptic world?

"Listen, and I will tell you," Storn smiled, and Marcus subsided meekly as the Skaal chuckled around him.

"We know little of the person Miraak was before he became corrupted and influenced by Herma-Mora," Storn continued. "What we do know, is that he was dissatisfied with his life serving the dragons, and eventually turned against them. It is said that it was Herma-Mora himself who revealed to Miraak that he was Dragonborn – the first Dragonborn, in fact – and that he had the body of a mortal, but the soul and blood of a dragon. It was Herma-Mora who showed Miraak how to use the dragon language to Shout, and how to steal a dragon's soul once he killed it. Before this, all believed the dragons to be immortal and invulnerable.

"When Miraak became a threat to the dragons, and to the rest of the dragon cult, it became clear to the rest of the priests that he must be stopped. Vahlok, a powerful priest in his own right, vowed to put an end to Miraak, and challenged him to battle.

"It was a battle to end all battles, and lasted for many days. As a dragon priest himself, Vahlok was able to use the same Shouts as Miraak, and both were equally skilled in arcane magic. Their Shouts and their spells unleashed cataclysmic forces not seen in Tamriel before, or since. Miraak had learned to bend the will of the dragons to his own, and used them against Vahlok and his allies. For his part, Vahlok knew how to channel the energies of his fellow priest through himself, making his spells far more powerful than Miraak's.

"Back and forth, the tide of the battle ebbed and flowed, and at first it seemed that Miraak must win the day, but Vahlok would rally and Miraak would find himself hard-pressed to counter each attack. They drew the magic from the land itself, and at length, the land rebelled against the raping. The very mountains trembled as the ground beneath their feet shifted, folded and split apart, turning upon itself to rid itself of the ravaging."

Storn paused, and only the crackling of the fire could be heard in the silence. All eyes were upon the old man and he held their gazes. Finally, he spoke in a thunderous voice.

"With a mighty groan a chasm opened beneath their feet, widening with every moment that passed. Scores of cultists vanished into its depths to be seen no more. The side upon which Miraak stood heaved and shifted towards the north, away from the Red Mountain, and the Sea of Ghosts rushed in from both sides to fill the void and swallow any who were unlucky enough to fall in. Steam rose in clouds, obscuring Miraak from Vahlok's view, and the older priest launched himself into the air with a spell to cross the widening gap to close with his nemesis one final time.

"But as he touched upon the ground on the other side, a crack of thunder ripped the sky apart, and only Vahlok was witness to what happened next."

"What did happen?" Azura breathed, her amber eyes wide.

Storn hung his head sadly. "Herma-Mora, seeing his Champion about to lose everything, snatched him away from Vahlok's vengeance, and retreated with him to Apocrypha, never to be seen again…at least, not until now."

"But what happened to Vahlok afterwards?" Azura insisted.

"Vahlok was appointed ruler of the new island, which they named 'Solstheim,'" Storn shrugged. "But they made him swear an oath of vigilance, to watch for Miraak's return. Our legends say that he was a just and kind ruler, unlike some of the dragon priests, and that his rule was one of peace and prosperity. The great machines which Miraak had had built were destroyed, and no one cared to rebuild them. Vahlok the Guardian handed his legacy down to the Skaal, and we have kept faith with that responsibility, guarding against the treachery of Herma-Mora, and watching and waiting for Miraak's return."

Storn finished speaking, and everyone around the fire drew in a collective breath. Though the entire story seemed to be more of a cautionary tale than an actual historical re-telling to Marcus, he nevertheless felt there had to be some kernel of truth under the layers of myth that had built up over millennia.

"Thank you, Storn," Fanari said, rising. "We must all remember the old tales, and the lessons they have to teach us. For now, it is late, and I'm sure our guests are tired. Thank you all for coming tonight."

Later, as Marcus settled down on the pallet provided for him, his mind kept going over the things Storn had related. Could the ancient Dragon Priests _really_ have been powerful enough to rip the land apart? It seemed unlikely to him. What was more likely was that some geological catastrophe had happened at precisely the same time that Vahlok and Miraak had battled.

 _Yeah,_ he thought drowsily, _an earthquake that just_ happened _to open a semi-circular chasm around an area the size of Iowa."_

Regardless how the island of Solstheim had been separated from Morrowind, Marcus worried about going up against a former Dragon Priest with that kind of power. Miraak, according to Storn's tale, had been powerful then; he'd had centuries in Apocrypha to hone his skills in order to stage a come-back. Marcus knew his own level of arcane knowledge could at best be described as "apprentice"- level. While he had spent the last two years tracking down other Words of Power – when he wasn't trouble-shooting for the Alliance – he still hadn't managed to convince _all_ the dragons to accept him as their _thuri,_ their lord, as Alduin had done. Apparently, Miraak knew Words of Power that would do the trick for him. Akatosh himself had confirmed this before Marcus even came to the island.

It seemed, then, that he needed to find these words, if he even hoped to take on Miraak alone. And through all of this, somehow, he had to find the other Black Books, to find the one which held Tamsyn prisoner. Weary, Marcus gave himself over to sleep. Nothing was ever as simple as it first seemed. He felt he was being pulled in three different directions, and as always, knew there wasn't enough of him to go around.

* * *

Tamsyn struggled with the gate, but it wouldn't budge. Beyond, she could see the tell-tale patches of light and dark, and was fairly convinced she was close to the edge of _Filament and Filigree,_ the Book in the game where the darkness caused injury. The place she was in at the moment was well-lit, but beyond the gate she saw hovering lights drift on the breezes of Apocrypha, randomly illuminating areas, or retreating against the gloom.

She knew this Book! She could navigate it and get to the end, and perhaps use it to get out of Apocrypha. But the gate remained closed, even in the face of the Unlock spell she threw at it. Frustrated, she searched around the immediate vicinity, looking for a scrye. In the game, that was usually how the gates opened. She did find one, but it was damaged.

"So that's it," she grumbled. "Dammit! I'm _so_ close!"

Nearby, a Seeker paused and turned to her, trilling out its gibberish.

Tamsyn scowled. "If you're the Librarian, shushing me, then stuff it," she replied irritably. "I want to get out of here! Instead of your endless, mindless research, how about doing something practical for once and helping me out?"

She didn't expect a response. Surprisingly, however, the Seeker drifted a few yards away, then paused and turned back to her, trilling at her once more, its four claw-like hands seeming to beckon to her to follow.

"What's that Lassie?" Tamsyn said sourly. "Timmy's fallen down the well?" She blew out a sigh. "Well, it's not like I'm getting very far on my own. Fine then, lead on, Lassie."

The Seeker – or, 'Lassie', as Tamsyn had named it – led her back down the corridor through which she had come, pausing every so often as if to make sure she was still following. As it turned the first corner, Tamsyn realized that the layout had shifted once again, and that the area she had traversed an hour before was no longer there, or no longer recognizable. This, she knew, was all part of Hermaeus Mora's attempts to disorient her, and keep her 'lost.'

But Lassie seemed to know where she was going. _At least, I think it's a 'she,'_ Tamsyn thought with some amusement. _Do Seekers have genders? I suppose it doesn't matter. In the television show, Lassie was often played by a male dog._

They passed by an alcove with a working scrye, but Lassie never stopped, continuing on down the filigreed tunnel, lined with ruined books. At length, she paused and hovered near a flight of steep steps leading up to Tamsyn's right. She gestured up the stairs.

"That way?" Tamsyn asked. "You're sure?"

The Seeker gave a slow blink and gestured once more. Shrugging, Tamsyn climbed the steps and emerged into a large area with a Lurker pool in the middle, and one exit on the opposite side of the chamber. It seemed vaguely familiar to her from the game, and she eagerly made her way around the pool, ignoring the Lurker that rose as she did so. Eventually, she made her way through the tunnels and up another flight of stairs to a platform in the open air of Apocrypha. A green haze lay over everything, and in the ghoulish glare, Tamsyn saw a pedestal at the far end of the platform where lay one of Mora's Black Books. Eagerly, Tamsyn stepped up and opened the tome, scanning its pages. _The Hidden Twilight,_ she read:

" _The City of Inkseeds rose from the desert, shining and decadent. Somehow, it still stood. I crossed through the gate, and the beast knew exactly where to take me: the way worn by beggars and poets. The only place a man of my appetites can find satisfaction. I'm not proud, but then, nobody ever is."_

Nothing happened. No globes to give her a bonus, presumably because she hadn't gone through the level to get here. Lassie had helped to cheat her here. What was more disappointing, however, was the fact she remained in Apocrypha. The Book had not sent her home.

"Dammit," she muttered. "Oh well, it was a thought."

She retreated back down the stairs to find Lassie waiting for her. The Seeker must have teleported herself to this spot, since Tamsyn had never yet seen one climb stairs.

The minion of Mora waved all four of her arms at Tamsyn, seemingly attempting to prevent her from leaving the platform area.

"What are you trying to do, Lassie?" Tamsyn queried irritably. "I tried reading the Book. It didn't send me home. You were wrong on that score."

A flood of chittering and chirping pulsed from the Seeker, and it gestured to the tables around the room. Stacks of books lay on them, around them, and under them. Lassie made a gesture with her two top hands that resembled opening a book.

"You want me to read these?" Tamsyn asked skeptically. "Do you have any idea how long that could take? There must be at least a hundred books here!"

The Seeker hovered near a pile of books under the table and pointed with both right hands, crooning insistently. Tamsyn gave an exasperated sigh.

"Start with this pile?" she demanded. Again, Lassie gave her a slow blink of agreement. "Why?" she countered. "Is there something in here Mora doesn't want me to know?"

One hand moved to the Seeker's face, as if shushing her, and again, Tamsyn was treated to a slow blink.

Instantly alert, Tamsyn lowered her voice. "There is, isn't there? That's why you brought me here. It wasn't the Black Book I needed to read, it was one of these!" Impulsively, she threw her arms around the shaggy form of the Seeker and hugged her. Startled at first, the two top arms tentatively slid around Tamsyn and gave her a quick hug back.

"It's a good thing I don't need to eat or sleep here," Tamsyn mused out loud as she settled herself on the floor and pulled the top book off the stack. "There's a lot of information here to sort through."

She lost track of time after that. Each book in the stack was scanned for its content, to see if it related to her situation. Those that seemed to be repetitions of history, she set aside. Any book with which she was unfamiliar was also put in a separate pile. If she managed to find a way out of here, she was taking some of this knowledge with her. She had gone through a half-dozen stacks in this manner when she stumbled across a book that left her cold, with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

" _How long have I dwelt in the realm of Apocrypha? I can no longer remember. I cannot even recall what motivated me to come here in the first place. All I know is that I am bound to this place now until death. The Master will never let me go. For those fools who sought only knowledge, they have received the so-called blessing of the Daedric Prince who rules this place, and will seek it until all the worlds end. For myself, I will not submit to becoming as they – wretched, deformed, twisted beings guarding this realm and the knowledge contained therein. Even now I can feel the pull to submit, to give in to the lust and the lure for secret knowledge, until my mind is gone and my body becomes a shambling, floating, four-armed grotesque with no goal but to seek more and more useless knowledge. What good will it do them? Do they think if they learn all Apocrypha's secrets, that He will let them go? I could assure them He will not, but they no longer listen to me. They have turned on me because I have not acquiesced. I have rebelled, and so I am now an intruder in this realm. I would leave it, if only I could find the way out…"_

The passage was unsigned. Indeed, the author may have felt no need to identify him or herself. The message was clear, however. If she gave in to the temptation of seeking knowledge, she would indeed wind up trapped here forever, as she feared. But if she resisted for too long, the grace period she had been given might be taken away, and all the Seekers and Lurkers that ignored her for the moment, might turn on her, as they did the unfortunate author of the book she had just read. She wondered if they had managed to find a way out.

It occurred to her to wonder why Lassie would lead her to this particular room. Why give her access to information that would set her against Mora, and so make things more difficult for her while she was here?

There were two answers Tamsyn could think of, the first being that Lassie simply didn't know the book she'd just read was in the stacks cluttered here. The second was that she did know, and was warning Tamsyn what might happen to her the longer she stayed. Whichever it was, her time here was slowly ticking down. Either she found a way out, or she didn't. She had no doubt Marcus was doing everything in his power to find her. Her best course of action, then, was to stay put and make it easier for him. How long it might take was anyone's guess. She had no sense of time here, and no idea how much had passed in Nirn since she was entrapped. There were seven Black Books, she knew, and if Marcus was unknowingly following the game at all, he would have to read a minimum of five to find her. All she could do, then, was sit and wait.

Sighing, she settled back down and pulled another book towards her. "Marcus, my love," she murmured. "Please hurry!"

* * *

For the second time in as many days, Marcus and Azura plunged into White Ridge Barrow. Using the Clairvoyance spell, it took little time for them to find an area that appeared to be a blank wall under the stairs of the room where the Word Wall lay.

After much diligent searching, Marcus found a hidden catch and released it, watching with satisfaction as the wall slid aside to reveal the altar where the Black Book lay. He hesitated, and Azura picked up on it right away.

"You're afraid it's going to spear you again, aren't you?" she asked with some sympathy.

"Yeah," he admitted. "How do I know this thing isn't going to transport me right back to Miraak? I'm not really ready to confront him yet."

"You won't know unless you claim the Book," Azura shrugged. "But I think you actually have to open the Book to get to Apocrypha. If you just take it and pack it away, you should be alright."

"You're sure about that," Marcus said drily, his tone implying he had his doubts.

"No," Azura replied cheerily. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can both grab the Book at the same time to put it in your backpack. That way, if anything happens, we'll _both_ be in Apocrypha."

"Will that really work?" he asked, relieved. Navigating the abyssal realms of Hermaeus Mora's domain was _not_ something he was looking forward to, but if it meant finding and rescuing Tamsyn, he was prepared to do it.

"I have no idea," Azura admitted, abashed. "It was something Neloth suggested might happen, but none of us were willing to be the…" she hesitated.

"Sacrificial goat?" Marcus suggested, arching an eyebrow. He was already getting an idea of the kind of master Neloth had been.

"Exactly!" Azura agreed. "I knew what had happened with Ildari, and lost no time in letting Talvas know when he came to Tel Mithryn."

"Well, we don't have a choice, now," Marcus said, practicality asserting itself. "On three, then. One…two…three!"

Both grabbed the Book at the same time and stuffed it into Marcus' backpack. Nothing happened.

"Whew!" Marcus grinned. "I don't mind telling you I was nervous about that!"

"You and me both!" Azura nodded. "To Raven Rock, then?"

"Yeah," Marcus concurred. "I have a few promises to keep there."

They retraced their steps of the day before, working their way down the coast to Raven Rock.

"I think I'm getting to know the perimeter of Solstheim pretty well by now," Marcus quipped.

"You haven't seen the northern islands yet," Azura reminded him, "or been very far into the interior. There's still a lot of island to see."

It was after closing time at the shops by the time Marcus and Azura returned, so they headed directly to the Retching Netch where they rented rooms for the night. Marcus was relieved to get a decent night's sleep for once, uninterrupted by visitations from either allies or enemies, and after they broke their fast, they found Captain Veleth and informed him of what had transpired at Fort Frostmoth.

"That's a load off my mind, at least," the Dunmer captain sighed. "Now my men can concentrate on what's really important: protecting Raven Rock and her people. Thanks again, Dragonborn!"

"Glad I could help," Marcus said sincerely, clasping wrists with the captain.

"Oh, one more thing before I go," Veleth said. "Second-Councilor Arano asked me to let you know he wants to talk with you, if you came back here."

"Did he say what he wanted?" Marcus asked warily.

"No," Captain Veleth admitted. "And I didn't ask. He seemed to want to keep things quiet. You'd best go speak with him as soon as you can."

 _I'll put it on my List of Things to Do Today,_ Marcus thought drily. "Thanks for letting me know," he told the Dunmer captain.

"Are you going to go talk with the Second-Councilor?" Azura asked.

"Not right away," Marcus said. "I need to speak to Crescius Carellius first."

"He'll probably be in the mine," Azura said.

They found the old miner in the first chamber of the Raven Rock Mine, arguing with a Dunmer woman.

"Damn it, woman!" Crescius scowled, "I said to leave me be!"

"Crescius, the last time you explored the mine you almost fell to your death!" the woman pleaded. "I'm not spending the rest of my days as a widow!"

 _Ah! So she's Crescius' wife?_ Marcus thought. _Interesting._

"And I'm telling you that I'll do whatever it takes to find my great-grandfather's remains," Crescius argued back. "He's down here, I can feel it!"

"That was almost two centuries ago," his wife pointed out, grasping his sleeve to hold him back. "There may be nothing left to find."

"Just let me go, woman!" Crescius struggled to free himself from his wife's clutching fingers.

The Dunmer woman frowned unhappily. "Crescius," she cried, close to tears, "you're an obstinate old fool, and you're going to get yourself killed!"

Seeing that Crescius was well past sixty, she had good reason to worry, and that fact that she seemed to genuinely care for the old Nord warmed her to Marcus. As she brushed past him, Marcus called out to her.

"Is there some way I can help?"

"W-what?" she stammered, hurriedly wiping her eyes. She had no idea how long these two strangers had been standing there, or how much they had heard. "I'm sorry," she murmured, throwing a glance at her husband, who was meticulously going through his pack, filling it with the things he might need for another trip down the mine shaft. "Any my apologies for my husband's raving," she continued.

"No apologies are necessary," Marcus assured her. "We didn't mean to eavesdrop. Crescius is your husband, then?" While interracial marriages were not uncommon in Skyrim – or Solstheim, either, apparently – it was unusual for such a long-lived race as a Dunmer to pair with someone they would soon out-live, like a Nord.

"Yes," the Dunmer woman replied. "I'm Aphia Velothi. I'm Crescius' wife."

"How long have you two been married?" Azura asked politely.

"About ten years now," Aphia told her. "I know it looks odd, me being a Dunmer, married to a Nord, but to understand how we met each other, you have to appreciate what he's going through."

"What is he going through?" Azura asked.

Aphia glanced again at her husband, then waved them over to a table closer to the mine entrance and invited them to sit down. Settling into the chair opposite them, Aphia threw one last look at Crescius, still absorbed in his preparations, before speaking in a low voice.

"Crescius is a third-generation miner," she said. "All his life, he's lived and breathed nothing else. By the time he came of age, the ebony mine in Raven Rock was shut down. He took that quite hard."

"Couldn't he find other work?" Marcus asked.

Aphia shook her head. "Our home has been in his family for over two hundred years. Leaving would have been like abandoning precious memories. Instead, he stayed on Solstheim and spent most of his life prospecting for a new ebony source."

"Let me guess," Marcus drawled, "he didn't find one."

"No," Aphia sighed. "Sadly, it never surfaced. About a decade ago this threw him into a deep depression."

"I can imagine," Azura said sympathetically. "To have spent nearly sixty years hoping to find a new vein only to come up empty-handed? He must have felt his whole life had been spent for nothing."

"Exactly!" Aphia nodded, warming to the Bosmer girl. "He shut himself inside his home and refused to come out."

"Is that when you met him?" Azura asked.

Again, Aphia nodded. "It was. After refusing to allow anyone to bring him food, Councilor Morvayn ordered his door to be knocked down before Crescius starved to death. I was a Temple priest at the time, and they had me use my healing arts to restore strength to his ailing body. I stayed for a while and cared for him, and…I suppose we fell in love," she admitted shyly.

Marcus smiled. It was clear to him that Aphia's concern for Crescius was genuine. It was also good to know that Councilor Morvayn himself was concerned enough for one of his citizens to take drastic measures, even if that citizen was not a Dunmer.

"So I take it that's why you were arguing, then?" he prompted. "Crescius is convinced there's still ebony down the mine?"

"That's part of it," Aphia admitted. She scowled, but there was little anger behind it. "That foolish old man thinks he's thirty years younger than he is. He's going to get himself killed traipsing around the mine!"

"Why does it mean so much to him?" Azura asked.

Aphia gave a frustrated sigh. "He's convinced himself that there's some sort of conspiracy involving the East Empire Company and the mine's closure," she explained. "We came across some old letters that belonged to his great-grandfather in our house, and he believes every word written in them."

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. "Why? What did they say?"

"Well, Crescius' great-grandfather worked for the East Empire Company," said Aphia. "The letters mention some sort of discovery he was sent to investigate. There's really nothing remarkable in the letters. I don't know what he's so excited about."

"A discovery, eh?" Marcus mused. "So the great-grandfather—"

"Gratian Carellius," Aphia supplied. "He was an explorer for the East Empire Company. They'd send him all over Tamriel when they had difficulties in a mining operation. Poor man…can you imagine doing all that dangerous work just to end up dying at your own doorstep?"

 _So he was a trouble-shooter,_ Marcus thought privately. _That's not very different from what I'm doing now._

"How did Gratian die?" Azura inquired.

"There was a horrible accident," Aphia said. "He was killed when one of the tunnels collapsed."

Azura let out a gasp of shock and sympathy.

"They were never even able to go down there and recover the body," Aphia explained. "The East Empire Company sealed that section off to prevent any more tragedies." She snorted. "Crescius is convinced it's a story cooked up by the company to cover up something else, but I don't know." She frowned again. "My beloved is almost eighty years old," she continued. "I think the shock of finding one of his ancestor's things has left his mind a bit…confused." She gazed fondly over to the old man. "I love him dearly, and I support everything he does, but I can't let him chase this silly idea, or he may end up joining Gratian in rocky grave." She subsided, unhappy, and worried that she might have said too much.

"What if I talk to him about it?" Marcus offered. Aphia was correct about one thing: a man of Crescius' age should not be descending into dangerous, unstable mines. "I might be able to convince him to give it up."

Aphia snorted. "You're welcome to try, but Crescius can be very stubborn."

"That may be true," Marcus smiled. "But I can be very persuasive."

He left Azura to sit and chat with Aphia while he had a private word with the old Nord. It would be better, Marcus felt, to speak to Crescius alone, or the aging miner might feel he was being ganged up on by his wife and a couple of strangers. Best to leave him with some dignity intact.

"Excuse me," Marcus greeted the elderly Nord. "Crescius Carellius? May I have a word with you?"

"Who in blazes are you?" snapped the cantankerous old man. "Can't you see I'm busy?" He fumbled with the pickaxe strapped to the side of his backpack. After several missed attempts to tighten the buckle, Marcus gently interposed himself and did it for him.

"So, why all the preparations?" he asked Crescius genially. "Going somewhere?"

"Hmph!" Crescius snorted. "Why should I tell you? I don't even know who you are!"

"Well, that's fair enough," the Dragonborn grinned. "I'm Marcus of Whiterun." He waited a few heartbeats to see Crescius' reaction, but apparently the name meant nothing to the old miner.

 _Good!_ Marcus thought happily. _I prefer to fly under the radar._

"If you tell me what you're up to, I might be able to help," he offered now.

"Hrmm…maybe," Crescius allowed. "Been difficult trusting people lately. They think I'm crazy."

 _Possibly,_ Marcus thought. _Glover Mallory seemed to think so, anyway. But perhaps 'obsessed' is closer to the truth._

"Mark my words," Crescius was saying, and Marcus brought his attention back where it belonged. "These mines hold a secret that could put Raven Rock back on the map!"

"A secret?" Marcus echoed. "What kind of secret?" He knew about Gratian Carellius, of course, but he wanted to hear what Crescius had to say about it.

"A secret the East Empire Company has swept under the rug two centuries ago," the old miner declared. "It killed my great-grandfather, and left Raven Rock with a worthless and tainted mine. Gratian Carellius spent his entire life exploring ancient ruins across Tamriel. He was very skilled, and knew what he was doing. So why would he die suddenly in a place he knew well?"

"Accidents happen—" Marcus began. He knew all too well how many times he had escaped death by a hair's breadth.

"This was no accident!" Crescius scowled. "The East Empire Company claims it was a rockfall that killed my great-grandfather, but I know better." He leaned in closer, in a conspiratorial manner. "I found an unsent letter he'd written to the East Empire Company, and a key!"

"A key?"

Crescius nodded, pulling it out of his belt pouch and flashing it to the Dragonborn. "Why would there be a key in a mine?"

 _Okay, old man, now you have my attention,_ Marcus admitted privately. Aloud, he asked, "So what does the letter say?"

Crescius scrabbled in his pockets for a moment and brought it out, handing it to Marcus. "It describes a discovery that was made in the mine by some of the diggers," he explained as Marcus perused the parchment. "They wanted Gratian to take a closer look. The East Empire Company must have felt it was of great value, as they locked that section of the mine off from everyone else."

"And this key is for the locked section?" Marcus asked, curiosity having been well and truly piqued by now.

Crescius shrugged. "I assume that it is. I haven't been able to find the entrance."

Marcus pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. "I admit," he finally allowed, "it _does_ seem suspicious."

"Finally!" Crescius crowed happily. "Someone who believes me! I'm telling you…there's something big down there! Something that the East Empire Company wanted to hide from everyone."

"Sounds like you could use a little help, then," Marcus smiled. The last thing he wanted was for the aging miner to injure or kill himself trying to find out what secrets were hidden deep in the mine. He wasn't exactly keen on going into an unstable digging himself.

"I guess I do," Crescius sighed. "Look, my wife nags that I'm too old to go traipsing around these mines chasing my story. Time is my enemy…it's caught up with me before I could find the answers that I'm looking for. I want to know what happened to Gratian, and what the East Empire Company is keeping from all of us."

"Where should I start?"

Crescius considered this. "Gratian kept a journal of notes about his discoveries," he said. "I have all of them except the last one which dealt with Raven Rock mine. I assume he must have had it on him when he was lost. If you could find his…remains…I'm hoping it will shed some light on what the company was hiding. Here's everything I have…the letter, the key…please," the old man pleaded. "Do this for me so I can finally regain the respect that I've lost. I just can't rest until I find out what happened to Gratian. Once I know, I promise I'll settle down and never set foot in this mine again."

Marcus knew he was already lost. "You had me at 'mystery,' old man," he smiled, and Crescius' worried face smoothed and broke into a wide grin as he handed Marcus the items.

"Anything more you can tell me about the so-called 'accident'?" Marcus asked. "I don't mind admitting I'm a little concerned about going down an unstable mine."

Crescius shook his head. "Look, I know I don't have much to go on. I have that unsent letter, and that's really it." Here he shrugged. "But I also have a miner's instinct that's run in my family from before Gratian was even born. I may sound like a crazy old man to you, but I'm telling you, the tunnels here are solid…they would _never_ collapse like that!" He paused, then added, "But be careful down there. The mine can be treacherous."

Marcus assured him he would be, then remembered his original purpose in coming to see Crescius in the first place. "Oh, by the way," he began, "Glover Mallory asked me to tell you to bring his pickaxe back."

Crescius scowled. "That damned fool doesn't even deserve to have it!" he snapped. "The pickaxe was made for mining, not selling! I'll bet he stole it from the Skaal in the first place!"

 _I'm not going to deny that thought didn't cross my mind,_ Marcus admitted to himself, but aloud he simply replied, "It doesn't belong to you, Crescius."

The old miner grumbled. "Oh, very well." He went over to a workbench and picked up an intricately-carved pickaxe, covered in Nordic designs. "Here," he said, shoving it at Marcus, who took it silently and hooked it onto his backpack. "Tell Glover I hope he drops the damned thing on his foot!"

Marcus returned to Azura and Aphia.

"Well?" Aphia asked, expectantly. "How did it go? Did you convince Crescius to give up his schemes?"

"Well, yes and no," Marcus demurred. "I agreed to go down the mine for him and check it out."

"What?" said both women together.

"I thought you were just going to get Glover's pickaxe back?" Azura queried.

"Got it," Marcus said smugly. "We'll take it back to him before we go down the mine."

Aphia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Why you're leading Crescius on like this, I'll never understand!"

"I'm not leading him on," Marcus explained patiently. "I'm giving him closure. Azura and I will go down and have a look around and see if we can find anything out of the ordinary. If there's nothing there, we explain that to Crescius, and he'll give up worrying about it."

"You don't know my husband," Aphia said drily.

"He's given me his word of honor to settle down and give it up once we know for certain," Marcus assured her, and while Aphia looked doubtful, she nevertheless wished them both good luck.

Back at the smithy, Marcus held out the ancient Nordic pickaxe to Glover Mallory.

"I've got your pickaxe back for you, Glover," he told the smith.

The burly Breton straightened from the grinding wheel and stood, eyeing the pickaxe and the man who had returned it.

"So you finally tracked old Crescius down, eh?" he mused. "Quite a character, isn't he?"

Marcus chuckled. "That he is."

"Tell you what," Glover said, rubbing his chin, "since you went to all the trouble of finding it for me and all, you keep it."

Marcus frowned. "I didn't hear you right," he said. "I thought you just told me to keep it."

Glover chuckled. "Yeah, I did."

"But why?" Marcus asked. "After all that?"

Glover shrugged as he reached for the bellows rope on the forge. "I just wanted to remind that old codger that you can't just go around taking things from other people. Now that you've delivered the message, I'm satisfied. Besides," he said, shrugging again, "that pickaxe hasn't done me any good in years. Maybe you can put it to good use."

Marcus and Azura walked away from the smithy, with Marcus shaking his head. Just when he thought he had people figured out, they always proved him wrong.

"So, I guess now we go down a mine?" Azura chirped.

He pulled himself out of his reverie and quirked a lop-sided smile. "If we don't want an eighty-year-old showing us up, then I guess so," he quipped. "Seriously, though, it shouldn't take that long to poke around down there and see if there's any merit to Crescius' conspiracy claims."

"And then where?" his companion asked.

Marcus stopped. Yes, and then where? He knew he still had to find the Black Books that were out there somewhere, but he had no idea where to begin looking. So far he had two: the first one he'd found in Miraak's Temple, _Waking Dreams,_ and the second one they had just found in White Ridge Barrow, _The Sallow Regent._ He hadn't yet opened the second Book, and had no intention of doing so until he had them all, and could explore them while in a relatively safe place.

"Let's take things one at a time, okay?" he suggested now. "Let's finish up with Raven Rock mine, and then plot out a course of action. I'll need to talk to Second-Councilor Arano, since Captain Veleth said he seems keen on speaking to us, and we still need to get back to Tel Mithryn to find out if Neloth is back and what he knows about these Black Books."

Azura grinned. "Do I need to keep a checklist?

"If things keep on the way they're going, you just might have to," Marcus chuckled.

"I'm following you," Azura smiled. "What does that letter say, that Crescius gave you?"

Marcus took it out of his belt pouch and smoothed it open again, carefully. The parchment crackled alarmingly with age, but the writing was still legible.

" _Gratian, I would appreciate if you could help us with a situation we've encountered in Raven Rock. It seems that the miners there have stumbled across some sort of ruins under the surface near shaft three, and we need your expertise to take a look. I could send someone else, if you're busy, but I figured you'd want to go since I seem to recall that you're originally from Solstheim. Let us know if you make any progress. – Rendellus Thandarian, East Empire Company, Imperial City, Cyrodiil."_

"Ruins?" Marcus mused. "Well, now, that would explain a lot."

"You think the East Empire Company locked away access to an ancient ruin under Raven Rock mine?" Azura asked.

"I do," Marcus nodded. "Probably for the protection of the miners, if I know my ancient Nordic ruins. When the ebony ran out in the main section of the mine, the workers left and the mine was closed."

"Do you think there's more ebony in the ruins?" the Bosmer mage inquired.

Marcus shrugged. "It's possible. I'm no geologist, so I really can't say, but I think we could certainly put Crescius' mind at rest if we explored them far enough to find out if his great-grandfather's remains are there somewhere. If we could find that journal he mentioned, it would be proof enough for the old man."

"Well, travelling with you has proven one thing to me," Azura remarked. "Where there are barrows, there is almost certainly treasure. Lead on!"

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Me again. Next up, Marcus and Azura delve into Raven Rock mine to learn what secrets lay hidden there. Meanwhile, Tamsyn makes a few discoveries of her own, and has a meeting with another prisoner held in Apocrypha.]  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _[Author's Note: The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, LOL. But on a more serious note, there has been a lot going on in my personal life that has kept me away from this story. I completed the first semester of my Spanish class (passed with an "A", thank you very much) but was unable to get into the class this semester. Back in November I found out my Dad has cancer, and because he lives two thousand miles away, I'm unable to go see him to help him and my Mom with everything they need to have done. My siblings have gone, but I'm stuck here. Right after Christmas and just before New Year's, my husband of 32 years suffered a heart attack. He's recovering, but not back to work yet, and of course I'm still very concerned for him. Meanwhile, working during the holidays was a real grinder, and I had my 60th birthday back in December. My poor old body is wondering what the heck I'm doing to it. So it's been a roller-coaster ride. I don't really care for roller-coasters. In any case, here is Chapter 6, and I would like to thank Multiverse for using the cattle-prod on me to get it done. I apologize for the wait; I'll work on getting these chapters done in a more timely manner. Thanks for being so patient with me.]_

She felt his presence before she saw him. The how of it was something she never questioned. She was in Apocrypha, after all, so why shouldn't she be aware that Hermaeus Mora lurked around every corner?

" _Have you…settled in, Arch-Mage?"_ he inquired, with a tone of amusement.

"No," Tamsyn replied crossly. "And I refuse to. I won't become comfortable in your domain."

" _I fail to understand…why you resist,"_ Mora drawled. _"You have…everything you could wish for here. There is…more information and knowledge…than it would take you several lifetimes to…accumulate."_

"You kidnapped me," she shot back. "You took me from my home, my husband, my family and friends, and you expect me to be _grateful_ about it?" She didn't attempt to hide her sarcasm.

" _I will remind you…that you sought_ me _out,"_ the Daedric Prince purred, more amused than annoyed. _"And I am not the first of my…kind, whom you have…consorted with. Sanguine spoke…highly of you."_

Tamsyn paled. "You know about that?" she whispered.

A burbling sound emitted from the conglomeration of eyes and tentacles that was Hermaeus Mora. It was not unlike a pot of stew boiling over a hot flame.

" _Have you already…forgotten…with whom you are dealing?"_ Mora chuckled. _"I know…everything."_

"I haven't forgotten," Tamsyn scowled. "And clearly you don't know everything, or you wouldn't have gone to the trouble of absconding with me."

" _A mere technicality,"_ Mora said smoothly, _"which will soon be…rectified. Have you decided to…share your secrets with me?"_

"You're wasting your time, Mora," Tamsyn said firmly. "I don't care if you're King of the Hoarders, I'm not telling you anything."

" _It matters not,"_ Mora said blandly. _"There are…other ways, to extract the information you…withhold from me. You will give me what I want…whether you want to or not."_

"Then why haven't you done it yet?" Tamsyn challenged. Inside she was terrified of just such a thing happening, and a part of her wanted to cave in and let the Daedric Prince know what he wanted to know. She hadn't forgotten the pain and horror of the mental torture she had endured as a captive of the Thalmor Justiciar Sylfaen Telperion before the Snow Elf's reformation.

Tamsyn knew she couldn't concede, however. If Hermaeus Mora knew he held the daughter of Julianos in his…tentacles…it might go very badly for the rest of the Aedra. She would become hostage to any demand the Daedra wanted from the Aedra, and the Nine would comply. Divine blood was thicker than water, after all.

" _I prefer willing compliance to…force, whenever…possible,"_ Mora said, his myriad number of eyes giving her a slow blink. It was his equivalent of a shrug. _"I have…unlimited time in which to…break you. You, however…do not have…nearly as much time as I to…resist."_

With that, the Daedric Prince disappeared, leaving Tamsyn to worry once more how much time had passed in Nirn since she had been taken.

She sighed. Standing on the platform, looking out over Apocrypha, she wished she could use her Ring of Flying to find another part of Mora's realm to look for a shadow-copy of the _Oghma Infinium._ But her first attempt to do so had met with resounding resistance from Mora himself. Huge tentacles dropped out of the sky, and rose from the ichor below her to snap and grab at her. She'd spent a good ten minutes dodging the attacks, only to find she had been neatly herded right back to the platform from which she'd departed. Clearly, Mora wanted her pinioned right where she was.

She had complained of this to Lassie, and while the Seeker was unable to communicate verbally with her, it seemed that the denizen of Apocrypha at least understood the Arch-Mage, to the point of bringing her books from other parts of the Oblivion realm. So far, while they had been interesting, none of them were the _Oghma_. When Tamsyn had specifically requested the Book from Lassie, the Seeker had gone into an agitated stream of clicks, chirps and pulses.

"Never mind, then," Tamsyn finally told her. _It must be in the Restricted Section,_ she thought sourly. An ordinary Seeker like Lassie was likely not to have access to the one Book she needed to leave this place. It meant, then, that Tamsyn would have to find a round-about way of getting what she needed.

Since the area she was currently in didn't seem to be off-limits, she explored it to the best of her ability, moving walls and corridors notwithstanding. The drawback to this was sometimes having trouble finding her way back to the landing. The benefit was that new books she hadn't read sometimes appeared.

"I need to resist this temptation," she muttered to herself as she jammed one more book into her backpack. "I don't have room for this. And I know he's doing this just to mess with me."

As her explorations wore on, however, Tamsyn noticed less and less cooperation from Lassie. The Seeker seemed willing to assist her in finding any book – other than the one she truly wanted, however – and keep her within the general confines of the area she already knew quite well, even if she didn't recognize it from the game. But Tamsyn wanted more: more freedom, more information, more assistance with escape, and that the Seeker was unwilling to give.

"Fine, then," the Arch-Mage snapped in frustration. "If you're not going to help me get out of here, then get out of my way!"

She pushed past Lassie to head back to the platform. She'd make another attempt to fly to another area.

The percussion of the attack hit her from behind, and flung her forward onto her face. In shock and rage, she flipped onto her back in time to see Lassie send another wave of force at her, her eyes glittering evilly red in the green gloom.

"What are you doing?" Tamsyn cried. Another burst of draining energy was her answer. Hurt and betrayal lanced through her. "I thought you were my friend!"

Whatever Lassie felt, she never revealed it, as she continued to bombard Tamsyn with her attacks. Tears welling in her eyes, Tamsyn rolled to one side and sprang to her feet.

"Don't make me kill you, Lassie!" she pleaded. But the Seeker never faltered, and sent another wave of energy drain towards the Breton girl, who blocked it with her ward.

 _Hermaeus Mora's gotten to her,_ was all she could think. _He's grown tired of waiting for me to break down._

In a way, she could understand it. As long as she was distracted by finding new books, or waiting for Marcus to show up, Mora was content to let her languish. He had all the time in Nirn to wait her out. Something must have happened to force him to step up his game. Tamsyn had a pretty good idea what that something was.

 _Marcus must be exploring the Black Books,_ she thought as she easily blocked another blast from Lassie. _Mora doesn't want him to find me too soon. That's why Lassie's turned on me. He'll take my knowledge from me by force once I'm beaten down._

The key, then, was obvious. She couldn't let herself get defeated. And in truth, it would have taken more than one turn-coat Seeker to take out the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. With streaming eyes, Tamsyn launched a fusillade of her own making against the Seeker of whom she had become so attached. When it was over, and nothing but ashes and the collapsed robes of Lassie remained, Tamsyn knelt by her former companion's side and wept.

"A formidable display of arcane magic, to be sure," a new voice said, and Tamsyn whipped her head around. "I wonder how you would fare against a Dragonborn."

Leaping to her feet, Tamsyn faced the figure that approached. Clothed in fine woolen robes in earth tones, trimmed with gold, and wearing his iconic, tentacled mask, the First Dragonborn emerged from the shadows of the corridor that led away from the platform.

"Come one step closer, Miraak, and you'll find out!" she warned, bringing electricity into one hand and the strongest ward she knew in the other. To her surprise, however, Miraak spread both his hands wide, to either side, showing them empty and non-threatening. Tamsyn remained on her guard. He was, after all, Dragonborn, like her husband, and she knew the power of Marcus' Voice from first-hand experience.

"So you know my name?" the First Dragonborn mused. "Good. I find introductions tedious and unnecessary. You would be Mora's new plaything, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. You are married to the Last Dragonborn." They were statements, not questions. Clearly, Miraak already knew who she was.

"What do you want, Miraak?" Tamsyn demanded, swiping a hand over her tear-stained face.

"Interesting," he murmured, ignoring her question. "You grieve for a minion of Mora."

"Up until a few moments ago, Lassie was my friend," Tamsyn shot back hotly.

"'Lassie?'" He still wore the mask, but Tamsyn had a feeling at least one eyebrow behind it was migrating upward.

"I – I gave her that name," she faltered. "Inside joke." She frowned. "You haven't answered my question, Miraak. What do you want?"

"A moment of your time, Arch-Mage," he said smoothly. "It would seem we both want the same thing…to be free of Hermaeus Mora's clutches."

"Is that wise to strategize about escaping him when he's literally everywhere in this damned realm?" Tamsyn countered.

"There is one place free of his influence," Miraak offered. "The Summit of Apocrypha. I have set wards against him there."

"You're not making any sense, then," Tamsyn scowled. "You're out here, subject to his will. Why put yourself at risk to come and speak with me?"

"I am here, and not here," Miraak shrugged. As he spoke he moved to one side and walked through a table shoved against one wall of books.

"Astral projection?" Tamsyn blinked. "I didn't think that was real."

"I am not familiar with that term," Miraak said, shrugging again. "This is merely a seeming; a manifestation of a small part of my power, shaped in my image."

"Astral projection," Tamsyn shrugged, unimpressed. "It's the same thing. The bottom line is, you're still there, at the Summit."

Miraak bowed formally. "As you say, Arch-Mage. But it goes beyond even your limited comprehension of that power."

Tamsyn bristled. "I'm sure you didn't stick your neck out here just to insult me, Miraak. Make your point."

"It is simply this," he said. "I believe we can be of mutual benefit to each other. We both wish to escape Apocrypha. It is my considered opinion that we can achieve that goal by working together."

The Arch-Mage considered this for the briefest of moments before shutting down that line of thought. A Miraak unleashed upon Tamriel would mean a return of the Dragon Cult, and the subjugation of its people once more to the whim and will of the dragons – a major step backwards in Tamriel's evolution, and something diametrically opposed to the foundation for its future, which she and Marcus had worked so hard to achieve. As much as she wanted to return to Nirn, she couldn't risk having Miraak tag along on her coattails. Instead, she played dumb.

"How could I help you?" she countered. "Don't you have all the standing stones here in Solstheim on lock-down?"

"Not anymore," he replied dismissively, not questioning how she knew about those. "Your husband has seen to that. But he lacks several skills which would aid him in defeating me."

 _He doesn't have all the Shouts yet,_ Tamsyn interpreted privately, worried about Marcus, and whether he was strong enough to go toe-to-toe with the First Dragonborn. She remembered what a hellacious fight it had been in the game. Aloud she merely asked, "Why should I help you, Miraak? It seems to me that bringing you back to Nirn would be a bad idea for everyone concerned."

"And why is that?" he demanded. "Is it wrong to wish to restore order from chaos? Is it wrong to attempt to overthrow the dragon overlords?"

"The dragon overlords have been gone for centuries, Miraak," Tamsyn snapped. "If you've been able to access any book ever written here in Apocrypha, you already knew that. That's a specious argument at best. The dragons have only recently returned, and in point of fact, Marcus is trying to win them over to his side, for a better purpose."

"Ah, yes," Miraak nodded, amused. "Your war with the elves. Word of that has reached even here, in Apocrypha."

Tamsyn remained unflustered. "Okay, so you know about that. So what? My point is: why should I help you return to Nirn, only to have to keep you from taking over everything?"

"Not everything," Miraak qualified, holding up one hand. "Just Solstheim. This country was mine by right. It was my territory, given to me as a reward for my services to the dragons."

"By enslaving her people?" Tamsyn frowned. "By grinding them under and living off their sweat and blood? By sacrificing them to the dragon altars? I'm no fool, Miraak," she continued scornfully. "I'm not going to trade one enemy I know for another that's worse."

Miraak made as if to dispute her argument, but Tamsyn plunged ahead. "The world has changed, Miraak. _People_ have changed, and they no longer live in fear of the Dragon Priests, who have been dead for thousands of years. They no longer serve the dragons. Marcus has already killed Alduin – something you _could_ have done, by the way, but chose not to do – and he's taken out a formidable vampire lord as well. You might not feel like he's much of a challenge to you, but I have faith in my husband. If he has to, he will kill you."

"If he has to?" Miraak echoed. "You make it sound as though he would have a choice. We are none of us given any choice in our destinies. Mine is to rule Solstheim."

"You're going to have a hard time convincing Councilor Morvayne of that notion. And you're wrong about destinies," Tamsyn returned. "We make our own, Miraak. Yes, Marcus had to kill Alduin. He wasn't given much choice because Alduin would not be reasoned with. He did try to convince Lord Harkon, the vampire lord, to set aside his scheme for world dominance by blotting out the sun, but again, Harkon wouldn't…er…see the light, as it were. If he had, if he had given it up, Marcus would have let him continue to live on in his castle, under a watchful eye."

"Then he is weak," Miraak declared. "He will always be taken advantage of by someone stronger than himself."

"Hah!" Tamsyn barked. "Look who's talking about being taken advantage of! How'd that deal with Mora work out for you, Miraak? Don't you dare accuse Marcus of being weak until you've met him!"

"I can see that coming to you was a waste of time and energy," Miraak said sourly. "I will leave you to Mora's tender mercies."

"I didn't say I _wouldn't_ help you," Tamsyn scowled. "I just said I'm not willing to bring you back if you're still intent on subjugating everyone you deem subordinate to yourself."

"Oh?" Miraak queried. Again, Tamsyn envisioned that eyebrow climbing up into his hairline again. Did Miraak have hair under the mask? The game never revealed his face. "What would you have me do, Arch-Mage? Live on as a subject of one of your Jarls, or perhaps under the thumb of Chancellor Morvayne? I would sooner perish."

"That's a narrow-minded attitude," Tamsyn said sourly. "You've got all this talent, and all this power, and you can't think of a way to peacefully co-exist with people without trying to dominate them?"

"It is in a dragon's nature to dominate," Miraak intoned. "And I have a dragon's blood and soul."

"So does Marcus," Tamsyn returned, without batting an eye. "Yet he seems to be doing just fine channeling that energy elsewhere. Are you less of a man than my husband, Miraak?"

There was silence for a long moment as Miraak wrestled with this challenge.

"A very wise dragon I know once asked Marcus, 'What is better? To be born good, or to overcome one's evil nature through discipline?' Do you have an evil nature, Miraak?" Tamsyn asked softly. "Or were you born good, but thrust into situations where you had to make choices you didn't want to make, because they were the lesser of two evils?"

"It has…been so long…" the former Dragon Priest murmured. "I have…forgotten…"

"No, you haven't," Tamsyn went on in the same soft, cajoling tone. "It's there, deep inside you. You might have shoved it out of your mind for a few millennia, but you know what set you on this path. You know why you chose to accept Mora's proposal to be his Champion, because you knew it would aid you in defeating the dragons. And their rule was so oppressive and horrible, death would have been a release. But you didn't want to die, Miraak. Not then and not now. You wanted to live. You still do. Just not as Mora's Champion. The bloom is off the rose, and all the promises he made you have withered. If you could free yourself from him, return to Nirn, could you see yourself doing it as the good man you once were? Before all the sacrifices and fire and blood hardened your heart and numbed your mind? Before all the horror in which you participated put the stain on your soul? Could you do that, Miraak? Could you be that man again?"

"I…don't…" Suddenly he stiffened and turned away from her. "We will speak again, Arch-Mage," he said, his voice gruff and angry. He faded from her view.

Tamsyn sighed. Oh well. It had been worth a shot. At her feet lay the remains of Lassie, and Tamsyn sniffled a little once more as she carefully set the robes on the table. "I'm so sorry, my friend," she whispered. "I wish it didn't have to end like this." _Damn Mora!_ she thought angrily. _Somehow I will make him pay for this!_

But how? How could she exact revenge on a Daedric Prince while still stuck in his domain?

She sighed and walked to the edge of the platform, adjusting her backpack as she did so. Lifting herself into the air, she made one more attempt to run the gauntlet of tentacles that attempted to hinder her progress and herd her back to her starting point.

At first all went well. The spot of land upon which she had been residing recently was no more than a mile or so in area, though it had seemed larger because of Hermaeus Mora cheating with his convoluted corridors. Looking swiftly around, she could see no difference in the landscape, no features to aid her in determining direction. There was no sun, only the heavy green pall which lay over everything. Tentacles waved lazily in the stultifying air, though no breeze blew. She wove a path through them, careful to avoid heading back to the island she had been on.

Invisibility was useless here, she knew. Her first attempts at flying while invisible had made no difference. Hermaeus Mora saw all in his realm, and she'd been driven back. She wished she had Marcus' Become Ethereal Shout. She could have avoided the sharp snap of the boneless appendages in that case. But she didn't, and there was no equivalent spell she could think of that would achieve the same results, though she filed the thought away in her mind to pursue at a later date. For now, she needed every ounce of concentration to move forward and avoid a potential attack.

It came suddenly, and though she had been expecting it, she still couldn't quite get out of the way fast enough to receive a welt-raising _smack_ to the back of her head. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Tamsyn put up her strongest ward and flew on, but now it became a gauntlet, a race to get to another plot of land before the tentacles drove her into the inky black water below, where other appendages waited to drag her under. Mora had apparently decided her secrets weren't worth knowing, or else he had some way of extracting them after her death. In any case, she continued to fly on, dodging the attacks as well as she could, striving to gain height when it was easier to go lower to avoid the slimy limbs.

Another resounding _crack_ against her shield, near her legs made Tamsyn cry out in spite of herself. She wasn't hurt; it was more surprise and shock than pain, but she refused to fly lower, and peered through the green gloom to find any speck of land on which to settle down. She had the feeling Mora wasn't too particular about keeping her on the island she'd been on; it was more a matter of keeping her land-bound that seemed important. But she could see nothing below her in any direction, and now she was surrounded by the bitter, biting, boneless barricades of Hermaeus Mora's displeasure. They began to weave themselves into a wall, surrounding her on all sides. The only opening was beneath her, and she was reluctant to take the seeming escape route, knowing she would be playing into the Daedric Prince's tentacles.

But the wall of appendages was squeezing closer together, tightening around her ward, which held, but took more of her concentration to maintain than she wanted to spend. Glancing below, she saw several more rise up from the Stygian waters of Apocrypha, far too close for comfort, and she realized that in her efforts to maintain her ward against the ones above and around her, they were moving her lower in the sky. There was no escape now.

 _Marcus, my love, I'm so sorry!_ There was nothing more she could do. Hermaeus Mora had won.

* * *

Marcus and Azura had descended the ladders and ramps of Raven Rock Mine, finding nothing more than some rather large frostbite spiders on the way. Though he still didn't like them, by this time they were more a nuisance than the terror they had once been. They had had to pull down some old wooden boards at the end of the only tunnel that seemed to lead anywhere, and used Crescius' key on the iron gate beyond. Marcus noticed a strongbox sitting on a crate nearby, which was emblazoned with the East Empire logo. Inside was a rather nice sum of gold and gems, and a peculiar pendant emblazoned with an older version of the East Empire logo.

"Any idea what this is?" he asked Azura.

She shook her head. "No, I've never seen one before." She made a slight gesture with one hand over it. "It's not magical. It might be worth some coin, to the right person, though."

"I'll hang onto it then," Marcus decided. "If it's been down here that long, it's probably an antique. Maybe Crescius knows what it is."

Azura giggled. "Are you suggesting _he's_ an antique?"

Marcus chuckled. "Don't go putting words into my mouth!"

It became immediately apparent, upon passing through the iron gate, that this area was indeed, an ancient Nordic ruin. Marcus had been though several over the past few years, finding _rotmulag_ to add to his arsenal of Shouts. Eagerly, he wondered if there was a Shout here.

There were certainly draugr. Several of them woke and shambled forward, including a Deathlord who Shouted at the two of them, sending Azura flying across the chamber.

"I'm alright!" she called, as she picked herself up. "I'll kill him for that!"

"I've got the big guy," Marcus retorted. "Keep those scourges off my back!"

"I'm on it!"

It was a short, bitter fight, with Azura using her fire and electricity spells and Marcus using Dragonbane, his spells and his Shouts. When it was over and the tomb was silent once more, the two companions quickly searched the draugr corpses for valuables before pushing on.

"I hope we don't have to fight too many more of these," Azura murmured. "I'm not complaining, mind you, but getting blown against the wall hurts!"

"Let's see if we can pin-point trouble before we reach it," Marcus suggested. Reaching deep into his vital essences, he breathed out Aura Whisper. _"Laas yah nir!"_

Red blobs lit up ahead of them, which only Marcus could see.

"See anything?" the Bosmer girl asked.

"There are two fairly close," he murmured, "probably in the next chamber. They aren't moving, so they'll probably look like these did before we woke them up."

"Can we get past them without waking them up?" Azura asked.

Marcus snorted. "It's been my experience that no, we can't. But knowing they're there is half the battle."

Azura shrugged. "If you say so. I'm ready when you are." She drew Sting and Grave and prepared herself for the coming fight by slipping the Dragon Priest mask over her head, settling it into place.

Marcus chuckled. "You know, I usually kill the ones wearing those things."

"I'll take it as a personal favor if you show some restraint," Azura replied blandly from behind the armored faceplate. "If they're going to be shooting ice spells at us like the others did, this will give me some protection. I should have remembered to put it on before we came down here, but I forgot."

"Are you sure you want to use your weapons, then, and not your spells?" he inquired, concerned.

"I like to mix things up," Azura said. "I know how to fight with the swords, so I like to stay in practice. I'll be fine," she assured him. "Let's just get through here and find whatever it is old Crescius thinks is down here."

Marcus said nothing, but merely nodded. So far, Azura had proven to be quite an accomplished adventurer, for all she insisted she was simply a mage. He had to trust that she knew what she was doing.

The two draugr were seated on stone and iron thrones typical of the sort Marcus had seen in many barrows in Skyrim. It was the work of only a few moments to take them by surprise and cut them down. What was not typical of any Nord barrow, however, was the crypt filled with the same blue-white petrified ice that made up Azura's sword, Grave.

"Is that…stalhrim?" Marcus wondered, touching it tentatively. He pulled his hand back quickly, shaking it in pain. The ice was so cold it burned.

"That's stalhrim," Azura confirmed. "I've never seen so much of it in one place!"

"It would be a shame to leave it here," Marcus mused. After all, Glover Mallory _did_ say it could only be mined with the Ancient Nordic pickaxe he'd given Marcus.

Azura gave an exasperated sigh. "I suppose we're not on a schedule," she allowed. "Go ahead. I'll make myself useful at the alchemy lab over here."

"There's an alchemy lab down here?" Marcus queried, glancing around.

Indeed, tucked away in a corner, and surrounded by shelves filled with ingredients, the familiar table rested with its alembic, retort and burner. An assortment of empty bottles sat on the shelves underneath.

"Don't mind me," Azura shrugged. "Go mine your stalhrim."

So Marcus hefted the heavy pickaxe and attacked the petrified ice.

 _Petrified is right,_ he grunted to himself. The stalhrim was so hard he doubted he could have made a dent in it with a regular pickaxe. Even with the Ancient Nordic, it took longer, but he managed to pull up three large chunks, uncovering a mummified draugr in the process.

"So this is how they buried their dead, eh?" he asked Azura as he put the stalhrim carefully into an old burlap sack he found nearby and secured it to his backpack. It seemed lighter than he thought it might have been, for as hard as it was.

"Only the wealthy were buried that way," Azura replied to his question. "No one knows how they managed to cover the bodies with the stalhrim. That's a lost art now, but as you can see, it deterred all but the most determined grave-robbers."

Marcus frowned. "Yeah, don't remind me that exactly what we're doing." When he had first come to Skyrim he'd had a long battle with his conscience, reluctant to loot every barrow and ruins he'd gone into. Lydia had been the one to point out to him that the enemies he'd fought in those places represented a threat to the common folk, and that he was doing a service in taking out bandits, restless draugr and feral vampires.

"Consider what you find in those places as payment for your services," she'd told him. "Jarl Balgruuf would pay you, of course, if he could. But his coffers aren't bottomless, and you've been a very busy Dragonborn."

Other companions he'd taken with him from time to time had said the same thing. And of course, his own wife, Tamsyn, had no qualms about picking up anything and everything she considered of value.

"You said it yourself, Marcus," she smiled at him coyly, on their honeymoon trip to several Nordic barrows in search of Word Walls. "Being the Dragonborn doesn't come with a steady paycheck."

That didn't mean it still didn't rankle a bit.

Azura gave a sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better," she said, "I once felt the same way, whenever I had to explore ruins with my colleagues at Winterhold, or find something for Neloth. I didn't like the idea that I was really robbing bodies, but if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else."

"It's alright," Marcus shrugged. "I've gotten used to it by now. Let's move on, shall we?"

He almost walked right into the soul gem trap before Azura yanked him back. Lightning arced across the hall from the pedestals set into alcove on either side.

"Oh, that would have hurt!" he winced. "Thanks, Azura."

"How do we get past these?" she asked. "I've never really found a good way."

"There are two that I know of," Marcus said. "One is to Shout Unrelenting Force at them, and the gems fall off."

"I'm not Dragonborn," Azura pointed out.

"I know," he said. "That's why we'll use Option Number Two." He pulled his bow as he spoke and aimed at the bottom of the gem to the left, just barely clearing a line of sight at the edge of the wall. Any further out, and he would trigger the trap. The first arrow clattered against the stone wall.

"Damn!" he muttered, shifting ever so slightly closer. The second arrow clipped the bottom of the gem, and it bounced harmlessly to the floor.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Azura crowed. "That's brilliant!" She drew her own bow as she spoke and crept to the left side wall to target the gem on the right. It took her several more arrows, but Marcus let her do it, knowing the sense of satisfaction it would give her. He let her scoop up the gems.

There was an iron door beyond this, which led into a cavernous, multi-leveled area filled with draugr, including deathlords. They crouched and crept their way through, and Azura commented at one point that she was going to end up with the best legs in Raven Rock after all their sneaking. Marcus found a room hidden behind a waterfall after they had taken out the draugr. There was another crypt sealed with stalhrim here, and Azura waited not-so-patiently for him to dig out what he could before they continued on.

She was pleased to find a spell tome, however, on a pedestal past an iron gate. She didn't say what the spell was, and Marcus didn't ask. She packed the book away for future perusal. There was another soul gem trap, which Azura took out much easier this time, having figured out exactly where to hit it. They found more gold and gems in a hidden room behind the pedestal, and continued to follow the twisting, turning corridor as it led around a dart trap guarding a locked chest. Marcus told her to wait as he edged his way around the pressure plate, still never having figured out the trick for being able to step on it without setting it off. The gold and gems in the chest weren't much, but he added them to his belt pouch anyway.

The corridor turned to the left and then to the right, and after a few more twists opened into an enormous chamber with a rushing rivulet running through it. At the far end, illuminated by torches and braziers, a huge set of iron double doors, surrounded by a segmented stone arch awaited them.

Several yards in front of the door was a skeleton.

"Wow," Azura breathed. "I've never seen anything like this!"

Marcus privately agreed. Studying the ledge upon which they stood, he could see the wall appeared to step down, like columns of graduated sizes. It wouldn't be too difficult to leap down, if one was careful. It was also clear there would be no way to climb back up. If they jumped down, they were committed to finding another way out.

"Is that the way we have to go?" Azura asked, a hint of concern in her voice. So she had put two and two together as well.

"I'm afraid so," Marcus replied. "There's nothing else behind us that we haven't already explored. Crescius wanted us to find his great-grandfather. I think that," he gestured to the skeleton, "may be him."

"What if there isn't another way out?" Azura whispered.

"There has to be," Marcus said firmly. "Look at the size of that door. Whatever kept Gratian from getting through them, it's not going to stop us. We'll figure it out. Come on. Let's get down there."

He led the way, turning back to help her at each level down until they reached the ground level. Moving quickly over to the skeleton, Marcus rummaged through the clothing and the backpack that still clung to the bones, coming up with a journal, and a two-handed greatsword that glowed with an unnerving red ambience.

"I'm afraid I was right," Marcus said, flipping quickly through the journal. "This was Gratian Carellius."

"What does the journal say?" Azura asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Well, he mentions getting a letter from the East Empire Company," Marcus said, scanning the first few entries. "It appears they found something in Raven Rock mine that they wanted him to investigate. Crescius was right about that. Gratian says they found an old Nordic barrow."

"Anything else?" Azura prompted. "What's that?" She pointed to a drawing on one page. "It looks like a sword."

"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "Gratian says the inscriptions on the tombs they found claim this place belonged to the Bloodskal Clan. They came down to this area here by way of the same dropdown point we took, and found this sword." He hefted the blade. "Apparently it's called the Bloodskal Blade."

"The Bloodskal Blade," Azura mused. "I've never heard of it."

"Gratian's journal says that he took the sword off a pedestal," Marcus reported. "Probably that one there," he added, twisting around and pointing behind him. "And when he did, it woke up some draugr that attacked him and his companion Millius, who was killed. Gratian was badly injured, and it would seem that he died of his wounds here. But not before he tried to escape through that door, using the sword."

"The sword?" Azura echoed, perplexed. "How can a sword open a door?"

"I'm not sure," Marcus frowned, "but Gratian says, 'When swinging the weapon, I'm noticing a ribbon of mystical energy emanating from it. I think by swinging the sword in different directions, it's possible to manipulate this ribbon and solve whatever puzzle this door presents.'"

"He never figured it out," Azura said sadly. "He died before that happened." She shivered, though it wasn't cold.

Marcus noticed it, and said grimly, "That's not going to happen to us. Look here!" He showed Azura two more sketches Gratian had made in his journal. "See? He shows the door with the arch, and then a closer detail with a line of red…I think that's his blood he used…to show the energy from the sword."

"How does that help?" Azura asked glumly, sitting down cross-legged on the stone floor of the chamber.

"Don't you see?" Marcus insisted, going over to the door. "See these segments here? The line Gratian painted on his drawing is exactly where the joints are in the stonework."

"I still don't understand what you're getting at, Marcus," Azura sighed, puzzled.

"Let me show you, then," Marcus said, shrugging his backpack off and swinging his arms around to loosen up his muscles. It had been a while since he'd swung a greatsword, and the Bloodskal Blade was definitely heavier than Dragonbane – though admittedly it was nowhere near as hefty as the Champion's Cudgel, he grimaced to himself.

Picking up the eerie red sword, Marcus took careful aim and swiped vertically at the join in the stonework at the center top of the arch.

Nothing happened. The sword left a trail of red energy, just as Gratian said it would, but the stone arch remained unchanged.

"Was it supposed to do nothing like that?" Azura asked brightly.

"Yes," Marcus said sourly. "Exactly like that." He paused and considered Gratian's journal again. The drawing had only shown the one joint at the bottom of the arch. It was possible that that was all Gratian, in his debilitated condition, could reach. It could also mean that the joints needed to be worked from bottom to top.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Let's try it this way." He stepped back to the arch and swiped horizontally at the joint on the bottom left.

A brighter flash of energy came from the sword this time, and the grinding of stonework rumbled through the floor as ancient tumblers turned into position, unlocking the first joint.

Azura leaped to her feet. "That was amazing!" she cried excitedly.

Marcus grinned. "Yeah, if at first you don't succeed, try reading the instructions." He moved over to the right-hand side of the arch and swiped at the joint there. As before, the sword's energy flared, the stonework throbbed and the joint unlocked.

Quickly, Marcus unlocked the five remaining keystones and stepped back as the last one on the top unlocked the door itself. He shrugged back into his backpack and opened the door, with Azura on his heels.

* * *

She was falling, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Maintaining flight was no longer possible, as the tendrils of Hermaeus Mora's wrath wrapped closer and closer around her ward. Concentration was the key to staying aloft, and that had been well and truly shattered by the proximity of the tentacles and the need to keep them from touching her. The inky black waters of Apocrypha loomed ever nearer, and she knew she would be hitting it with all the force of a sack of pudding on wet pavement.

A sudden roar, muted through the barrier surrounding her, made her heart leap. It sounded so much like a dragon. Tamsyn knew there were dragons here, of course, but they belonged to Miraak. They wouldn't help her. But a muffled explosion sent a shudder through the tentacles and they swiftly began to unravel, retreating back up into the sky, and down into the depths of the waters below. It wasn't enough to save her, however, because the surface was far too close for her to regain control of her fall.

She closed her eyes, sending another silent prayer to the Aedra, and a farewell to Marcus that he would never hear, resigning herself to her fate.

Another roar came, closer this time, and Tamsyn unwillingly opened her eyes to see a large, serpentine dragon mere yards away.

"Brace yourself, _Prok-Lahzey!"_ he called, swooping under her. She hit his neck, emitting a loud _"oof!"_ as she did so. "My _thuri,_ Miraak, bid me come and retrieve you, and bring you to the Summit of Apocrypha," the dragon said. "I am Sahrotaar."

"I'm in your debt, Sahrotaar," Tamsyn said breathlessly as she scrambled to adjust herself more comfortably on his neck. She found the spot where Miraak usually sat in the game, between the neck and back spines, and gripped his neck tightly with her knees. "I thought I was a goner back there."

"We are not clear of the Daedra's displeasure yet, _Prok-Lahzey,"_ Sahrotaar warned. "He will attempt to stop us from reaching the Summit where my lord awaits. If you can assist in our defense, I will consider your debt discharged."

As he spoke, the serpentine dragon wheeled back the way he had come, and Tamsyn soon learned exactly how angry she had made Hermaeus Mora. It wasn't just tentacles dropping from the sky that accosted them. Those were easily dealt with by dragon fire and arcane lightning.

But their path took them past watchtowers which held Seekers who blasted out their percussive spells in an attempt to knock her off the dragon's back, or drive them lower where the Lurkers could spew their vile, energy-draining vomit at them. Sahrotaar threaded the needle between these watchtowers, gliding effortlessly between and around them, Shouting out his own ice-based attacks, or knocking the Lurkers off their ledges with his Unrelenting Force. Tamsyn tapped deeply into her own magicka and sent volley after volley of fire and electricity at their enemies, until at last they were clear of the towers.

"You are every bit as good as the legends say, _Prok-Lahzey,"_ Sahrotaar acknowledged.

"Legends?" Tamsyn chuckled, amused. "I didn't think I warranted legendary status. That's usually something that happens after one has died."

"Here in Apocrypha, the Daedric Prince hoards _all_ knowledge," the dragon said laconically, "even knowledge that has not yet happened. Ordinary _joore_ may not be able to understand it, but for the _dov_ , who exist outside and within _tiid_ itself, simultaneously, it is all one to us."

Stunned, Tamsyn sat on the dragon's neck and pondered this. It explained a great deal. Alduin had been able to find Marcus' soul before he had even been born and remove it from the Time Vortex, as her father had called it, in an attempt to cheat his own destiny. This had caused Marcus to be born in Gaea, the world in which she herself had been born, some fifteen years earlier. Marcus' soul had always belonged to Nirn, and it returned there after he had died in Gaea. Her own soul was partly of Gaea and partly of Nirn, though her Aedric blood tied her more closely to Tamriel. She wasn't complaining.

What Sahrotaar had told her meant that many of the dragons may already have known that the First Tongues would banish Alduin, and after the purge of the Dragon Wars – when the Akaviri Blades decided the only good dragon was a dead one – the smarter _dov_ went into hiding, knowing that someday, Alduin would return.

"Do you translate some of those texts for Miraak?" Tamsyn asked now.

"Of course," the dragon responded, surprised she would ask. Miraak was his lord, after all. Why wouldn't he translate some of the forbidden texts?

Tamsyn fell silent again, disturbed. This meant that Miraak quite possibly possessed knowledge about the future that she had not been able to See. It also meant he would be a formidable opponent. But why had he sent Sahrotaar to rescue her if he hadn't felt he needed her to escape from Apocrypha? She gave a mental shrug. She was certain she would find out soon.

Hermaeus Mora made one more attempt to prevent them from returning to the Summit, the huge, towering mountain she could see rapidly approaching. Tentacles dropped down suddenly all around them, yet Sahrotaar merely called back, "Hold on!" and sinuously wound his way through the grasping, snapping field of boneless limbs and passed through an energy barrier set up around the Summit, landing gently on the floor of the arena that Tamsyn remembered from the game.

She leaped lightly down and surveyed the scene. As with most of Apocrypha, the Summit seemed to be built upon stacks and stacks of ruined books, but at least in the center there was a raised stone floor surrounding a pool filled with the same inky-black waters that surrounded most of the Daedric Prince's realm. Three arches similar to Oblivion gates surrounded the Summit. Two dragons perched on two of the arches, and as she looked around, Sahrotaar lifted himself into the air to sit on the third. The other two dragons, Tamsyn knew, must be Kruziikrel and Relonikiv, who were standard, Skyrim-type dragons – all horns and scales and claws. She knew what their fate had been in the game, and wondered briefly if they also had insight into the future. Would they serve Miraak so willingly if they did?

 _Bend Will, Tamsyn, remember?_ she reminded herself. _He's got them under his thumb._

"Ah, our guest has arrived," came Miraak's voice from across the pool. "Welcome, Arch-Mage, to the Summit of Apocrypha."

He removed his mask as he spoke, and for the first time, Tamsyn looked upon the man who had given her so much trouble in the game. He was handsome, she had to give him that. Not as handsome in her eyes as Marcus, but she was probably biased. His hair was cropped short, and was somewhere between brown and blonde in color. He was clean-shaven, and his eyes were a piercing blue color. He stood a bit shorter than Marcus, but he still towered over her small frame.

"You're not quite a Nord, are you?" Tamsyn blurted, and to her surprise, Miraak laughed. It was a deep, pleasant sound.

"Your husband figured it out the first time he saw me," Miraak said smugly.

"Marcus reads a lot more history books than I do," she sniffed. "And anyway, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that for the second time in my life I find myself indebted to a rogue."

"Rogue?" Miraak repeated, raising his left eyebrow. "That's a rather harsh word for someone who has saved your life, Arch-Mage. And if this is the second time, I'm afraid I must begin to wonder about the sort of people with whom you associate."

"Yes, well, you're not the first one to wonder about that," Tamsyn said sourly. "I've had some concerns of my own. So why did you save me, Miraak?" she continued. "We didn't exactly hit it off very well."

"'Hit it off'?"

"We didn't get along well," Tamsyn clarified. "I said some things you didn't like, and I'm already suspicious of you."

"As well you should be," Miraak replied stiffly. "I am no one to be trifled with."

"I get that," Tamsyn said. "And honestly, I think an arcane battle between the two of us would send even Hermaeus Mora running for cover."

Almost against his will, the corner of Miraak's mouth lifted.

"But I just want to know what you want from me," Tamsyn continued. "I know you want to escape Apocrypha. So do I. What makes you think I have the power to help you do that? If I could have escaped from Apocrypha, don't you think I'd have done it by now?"

"I will tell you, Arch-Mage," Miraak replied, "and then you may decide your course of action. However, let us be comfortable while we talk. Won't you sit down?" He gestured to an area off to one side of the Summit, near a pile of rubble and ruined books. A small table and two chairs had been set up here, near a bedroll on the floor.

"You sleep?" Tamsyn queried. "I thought only our minds were actually here in Apocrypha."

"Your mind, Arch-Mage," Miraak clarified. "And beyond the boundaries of the Summit, my mind as well. But here within this safe space I have carved out for myself, I am as real as you are back in your College."

"But…but that would make you thousands of years old!" Tamsyn spluttered, astonished.

"Numbers mean little to me anymore," Miraak said dismissively, pulling out a chair for her. "Within the realm of a Daedric Prince, time means nothing. We are both inside and outside of time, and so I do not feel the ravages of time upon my body. But come, we were discussing my purpose in bringing you here."

He seated himself and said plainly, "I know who and what you are, Arch-Mage. Oh, don't try to deny it," he added quickly, holding up a hand to stop her protests. "And don't worry. _He_ doesn't know yet. I have successfully kept that knowledge from him since I established my sanctuary here; one reason why I do not venture outside my barrier."

"This is bad," Tamsyn worried. "How could you have found this out?"

"I have had many centuries to explore Apocrypha," Miraak shrugged. "At first, I was allowed access to almost every place here, and was allowed to move about in comparative freedom. I soon realized, however, that Mora only allowed me to study what he wished me to study. Certain places were denied to me, and protected either by his minions, or by puzzles I was unable to figure out. When I did manage to solve those puzzles, I was rewarded by tidbits of information, but it left me unsatisfied. I wanted to know more; I wanted to know what Hermaeus Mora was keeping from me. From time to time, he would send me back to Tamriel to retrieve something, or to place a book of knowledge where certain persons would be likely to find them."

"The Black Books?" Tamsyn guessed.

"Indeed," Miraak concurred. "Few people realize just how much of history has been influenced by the Daedra. In any case, I discovered one area of Apocrypha which Hermaeus Mora jealously guarded against me. Nothing I could do would gain me access to the knowledge of that level."

"What level was that?" Tamsyn asked.

"I do not know if it has an official name," Miraak admitted. "In my mind I have called it _The Forbidden Fruit_ , for it seems to be the place where Mora kept anything he did not wish me to learn. When I demanded to know why, he would tell me I was not ready for the knowledge contained within that Book."

"Wait, it's a Book?" Tamsyn asked. "Like the Black Books?"

Miraak chuckled, and it was not a pleasant sound. "Indeed. Look around you, Arch-Mage. We are at the Summit of Apocrypha. We are _in_ a Book. The place from which you fled was known as _The Winds of Change_. Prophetic, is it not?"

" _The Winds of Change_?" Tamsyn echoed. "That didn't look like any part of the Book that I remember."

"Ah yes, I forget you have already been through Apocrypha in your own world. A…game, was it not? Strange…"

"Yes, it was a game, and I played a lot of it, so I know what I'm saying when I tell you that landing I was on didn't look like _The Winds of Change._ "

"Perhaps your…game…did not include all aspects of Tamriel, or Apocrypha?" Miraak suggested.

"Perhaps," Tamsyn admitted, grudgingly.

"In any case," Miraak went on, "I eventually found a way into _The Forbidden Fruit_ which Mora either had forgotten existed – quite easy to do in a place as vast as this – or had been unable to penetrate, rather like the Dwemer lockbox you help Septimus Signus to open."

"So you know about that, too," Tamsyn flushed.

Miraak shrugged. "You defied Mora then. Perhaps it was that which called your attention to him. In any case, like the Dwemer lockbox, access to _The Forbidden Fruit_ required solving a puzzle, a riddle, so mortal in its nature that Mora could not penetrate it. That was when I realized that the reason he kept me away from it was because he himself had no idea what lay within. Mora hates any secret which he does not know. And your very nature was one of the things I discovered in that Book. I knew then that if you ever found your way to Apocrypha that you might be the key to my freedom."

"I know how to get myself back, Miraak," Tamsyn glowered. "I just need to find a copy of the _Oghma Infinium._ That's how I got sucked into Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora set a trap for me within the pages of that book. It wasn't supposed to work that way."

"I know where a copy of that Book lies," Miraak stated. "But I will not reveal it unless I have your assurance that you will help me escape."

Tamsyn gave a frustrated sigh. "You still haven't explained _how_ I'm supposed to do that," she accused. "I need to know that before I can make that kind of decision."

"You are part Aedra," he said simply, chuckling over her sudden, hissing admonitions to keep his voice down. "I told you, Mora cannot breach my shield. Not at the moment, anyway, though I suspect he has tried. Your blood and soul gives you access to Aetherius by creating a gate, similar to an Oblivion gate. By creating one here, we can both escape to Aetherius, and from there it would be easier to return to Nirn by the same method."

"I don't know how to do that!" Tamsyn exclaimed. "I'm good at what I do, but I've never created a portal to the realm of the gods! Just how powerful do you think I am?"

"You might not know how to do this right now," Miraak said confidently, "but remember where we are. This is Apocrypha. All knowledge that has ever been is here. And _The Forbidden Fruit_ contains passages thought to have been written by the Aedra themselves, in the time before history. I am confident there will be something there which will help you."

"And just how do we get there?" Tamsyn demanded. "Mind you, I still haven't said I'll do it. But if we're stuck here at the Summit, how are we going to get to this Book without Mora attacking us both again?"

"Leave that to me," Miraak assured her. "I only wish to know that you will at least consider my proposal. And in return…I will consider yours."

"I suppose that's the best I can hope for right now," Tamsyn said glumly, and sank into brooding introspection. She wondered if Miraak was being straight with her, or if he was blowing smoke up her backside. She couldn't blame the First Dragonborn for wanting to leave Apocrypha – she couldn't see the backside of this tentacle-filled nightmare soon enough herself. But would Miraak agree to live peacefully among the people of Tamriel now, or would he slip back into his domineering habits of old?

"Tell me, Arch-Mage," Miraak said now, breaking into her thoughts. "In this…game of yours…what happens to me?"

 _Of all the questions you could ask!_ Tamsyn thought privately. She hesitated only a moment before answering. "You have to remember that everything was…scripted, Miraak," she began. "The writers didn't allow for all possibilities. They would never have been able to get the game to work if they had. People have free will, after all, but that doesn't work for a game."

"You're prevaricating."

She sighed and looked him squarely in the eyes. "You die, Miraak," she said quietly. "If the character I played was strong enough, you died. If I wasn't, I died. But the game would take me back to the last place I saved to try again, as many times as I needed until you died."

Miraak's face was a study in contemplation. "So my destiny is to die at the hands of the Arch-Mage," he mused.

"No!" Tamsyn denied. "Not me. The Dragonborn. In the game, I played the Dragonborn."

"That's only slightly better," Miraak said, a faint smile curving his lips. "To be brought down by the Last Dragonborn. It would be a fitting end. But as you said, your game did not allow for – how did you put it? – free will."

"It's not even as good as that, Miraak," Tamsyn said glumly. "The Dragonborn doesn't kill you. Hermaeus Mora does."

" _WHAT?"_ Miraak leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over as the word exploded from him, and Tamsyn felt the push of his _thu'um_ though he hadn't used one. Sahrotaar roared out a challenge.

"Mora cheats," she replied simply. "He knows you've defied him, so he lures the Last Dragonborn in as his new Champion. But when it looks like you get the upper hand, he steps in to kill you."

Miraak muttered a string of invectives in a language Tamsyn did not understand and began pacing the floor. The dragons shifted restlessly on their perches, reminding Tamsyn of the link between Miraak and the _dov._

"There is no way to prevent this?" Miraak demanded.

"Not in the game, there isn't," Tamsyn said. "But we aren't in the game now, are we?"

"No," Miraak agreed. "We aren't. But we _are_ in Hermaeus Mora's realm. I have no doubt that he has suffered my domain here long enough, and is only biding his time to breach my barriers and finish me off. No doubt he only waits until his new Champion is ready to take over."

"Then we have to prepare ourselves for when Marcus shows up," Tamsyn said. "I'm sure I can convince him not to fight you, if you agree not to take over Solstheim upon your return. You would be a welcome addition to our fight against the Dominion, in any case."

"And what would I do afterwards?" Miraak scowled. "I do not take orders well."

"You must have done at one time," Tamsyn argued, "to get to your position as Dragon Priest."

"Yes," the First Dragonborn acceded, "and I have no wish to go through _that_ again!"

"Well, then, there's always the College," Tamsyn suggested, knowing that she would be able to keep an eye on him there. "You could teach others what you've learned here."

Miraak almost chuckled at that. "I can't see myself as an academician," he replied. "I have little patience for it."

She was running out of options, but she knew she had to convince him not to fight Marcus or attempt a coup if she agreed to help him return to Nirn. "Well, then, you could go to High Hrothgar and learn some patience," she snapped. "I'm sure the Greybeards would have an infinite amount they could share with you!"

At this he did laugh. He threw his head back and laughed loud and long. Tamsyn sat bemused while he gave vent to his mirth.

"If only you knew how amusing that sounds, Arch-Mage," he said finally. "I remember the First Tongues, the progenitors of the Greybeards, when they came to me, seeking my help to defeat Alduin. I unceremoniously turned them down."

"Why?" Tamsyn asked. "Why did you turn them away? You could have defeated Alduin then and saved a lot of people a lot of trouble."

Miraak shook his head. "I was not in the mindset at the time to help anyone but myself," he answered.

"I see nothing's changed," Tamsyn commented drily. "Look, you want my help in returning to Nirn, and I'm willing to help, but you have to give me something of equal value in return."

"And that 'something' is the promise not to become lord and master of Solstheim – or anywhere, apparently," he said sourly. He heaved a great sigh. "What's a Dragonborn to do, then, if he can't dominate something?"

"Being a Dragonborn is about more than domination, Miraak," Tamsyn replied. "There is a responsibility involved, to protect those who cannot defend themselves. That's what Marcus is trying to do now. We've set up secret training camps to get both sides of Skyrim's civil war to work together against a common enemy – the same enemy that labored to bring their civil war about in the first place. We've travelled all over Tamriel, stamping out plots by the Dominion to usurp the legitimate rulers of the Provinces, or those which would create diplomatic incidents that would lead to a shut-down of communication between leaders that would end up in another war. Right now, we're stretched thin, trying to keep up with all the plots the Dominion and their Thalmor toadies have going on. We need to strike soon and take the fight to them."

"And for this you need the dragons," Miraak mused, remembering her earlier words.

"Yes! It's something the Dominion doesn't have and couldn't anticipate. An Air Force of dragonriders could sweep in and strafe Dominion forces, raid their supply depots, destroy their outposts. We could even take the fight directly to the Summerset Isles themselves."

"Interesting," the First Dragonborn murmured. "And how many dragons have you brought to your side?"

Tamsyn faltered. "Not…not many," she admitted. "Only a half dozen or so…maybe."

"So it would appear you need me more than I need you."

"I didn't say that!" Tamsyn snapped. "And if you didn't need me, you wouldn't have saved me."

Miraak opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again. He nodded gracefully. "Point taken, Arch-Mage. As it happens, I do in fact need your cooperation to escape."

"And…?" she prompted.

"And I am willing to defer any plans of self-coronation until such a time as my debt to you is discharged."

"So you'll help us?"

Miraak blinked. "I just said I would, didn't I?"

"Not in so many words," Tamsyn smiled, "but I'll take what I can get. Now, how do we get to _The Forbidden Fruit_ without Mora finding out?"

* * *

"May I just say I hate those swinging blade traps?" Azura panted.

"Noted," Marcus replied, breathing rather hard himself. They had tried to run the gauntlet with him holding Azura during his Become Ethereal Shout, but they had moved slower than expected, and the Shout had finished before they were through, leaving them to try to dodge the scythes of doom without becoming julienned. "At least we found the lever," he half-joked, pulling it.

The blades behind them halted and retracted against the walls of the corridor, and the iron gate in front of them rose to reveal the vast chamber beyond.

It was flooded, with about three feet of water standing stagnant in the middle of the room. Raised stone walkways lined the room on all sides, with a large chest at the far end in front of a familiar, curving Word Wall. In front of them, at this end of the room, sat a much more ornate chest. Marcus knew from past experience that the more decorative containers held better loot. That it stood here at the entrance to the chamber, rather than tucked away in some forgotten corner, disturbed him. It seemed…too easy.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Azura murmured.

"Yeah, me too," Marcus nodded. "Be ready for anything." He approached the chest. It didn't seem trapped in any way, and when he tested it, found it to be unlocked. Inside lay a single gold septim.

"That's it?" he blurted, annoyed. "One gold piece?"

A shriek, like the sound of metal being torn apart, echoed around the chamber as a lich rose from the depths of the pond. His decrepit, rotted clothing flapped wetly as he floated a foot above the surface, apparently fanned by the winds of some nether world from which he had been torn.

" _Marcus!"_ Azura shrieked, pointing across the chamber.

"I see him!" the Dragonborn called back, as he raced around the perimeter of the chamber to head off the Dragon Priest lich.

Unfortunately, said lich floated out over the water, which was deep enough to hinder movement, though not deep enough to drown in. In either case, it gave the undead Priest the advantage of height, and Marcus knew he would be unable to use his sword here. He sheathed Dragonbane and switched tactics, bringing a ward into his left hand and lightning into his right.

But the Dragon Priest knew lightning as well, and knew it better than Marcus. The Dragonborn's spell seemed to bounce harmlessly off the Priest's armor, but the lich's lightning seized up all Marcus' muscles in an instant, before he could get his ward in place. It was made far worse by the fact that he was standing in water.

"Not my friend, you don't!" Azura roared, and launched a dual-cast wall of ice at the Priest, who had drifted away from Marcus towards her. It recoiled at her initial attack, but continued to advance. Nimbly, Azura raced across the walkway, staying ahead of the lich's attacks.

"Are you alright, Marcus?" the Bosmer mage called out, worried. She fired off another dual-cast Ice Storm as she leaped from one pile of tumbled boulders to the next, striving desperately to stay out of the water.

"I…will…be…" Marcus grunted, forcing his body to respond. Painfully he got to his feet and looked around. There was nothing in this chamber that could help him defeat the lich. As long as the Priest hovered over the sunken pond, they couldn't hit him with their melee weapons, and Marcus wasn't nearly as good with magic as Azura.

 _Well, am I the Dragonborn or not?_ he asked himself.

" _HUN KAAL ZOOR!"_

With a warping sound, Hakon One-Eye stepped through the ethereal portal Marcus' Shout had created.

" _Dragonborn!"_ Hakon called out gladly. _"You have called me, so you must have need of my assistance."_

"I do, Hakon," Marcus winced, still feeling the sting of paralysis. He pointed at the lich, hovering over the water, bearing down on Azura. "We need to kill that thing…again!"

Hakon smiled grimly. _"Zahkriisos, you miserable worm!"_ he bellowed. _"You cannot hide from me, even with that mask. Vengeance has come!"_

"Wait!" Marcus called out, "you knew this one?"

" _Aye,"_ Hakon gritted out. _"This priest was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people, many of whom were my friends. He shall pay for his atrocities now!"_

So saying, Hakon One-Eye, First Tongue and disciple of Paarthurnax, strode out across the water and swung his mighty battleaxe, connecting with a resounding _clang_ with the Dragon Priest's armor.

"Oh, my gods!" Azura squealing in delight. "That is so cool!" Her time spent with Marcus was rubbing off on her with her choice of expressions.

In rage and surprise, Zahkriisos whirled around to confront this new threat, and started back upon seeing the glowing form of the Hero of Skyrim bearing down on him. Marcus felt sure that behind the mask, the Priest's hollow eyes must have widened in dismay.

" _Keep up thine attacks,"_ Hakon advised. _"Zahkriisos is no novice!"_

For his part, the Dragon Priest said nothing, beyond an eerie screech of hate directed at Hakon. The chamber lit up with his lightning attacks, leaving trails of electricity across the water and on the stone walkways, which Marcus and Azura strove to avoid. The smell of ozone filled the air, overpowering the musty dankness which had been there before.

For his part, Marcus could do little more than shoot off one firebolt after another, but he measured his magicka carefully to keep up a steady stream, as Hakon herded the lich towards the Word Wall.

Marcus raced ahead and felt the rhythmic chanting deep in his bones. He felt the pull of the Ancient Tongues who called to him through the _rotmulag,_ but he resisted immersing himself in the Word.

 _Fight lich first, Marcus,_ he told himself, _then get Word._

From the side of the vast Chamber, Azura now narrowed her attacks to Icy Spears, which seemed to have little effect of the lich, but she was reluctant to capture Marcus' ally in a fiery conflagration. Hakon seemed to sense her hesitance.

" _Thy magic will not harm me,"_ he called to her, evading a blinding bolt of electricity from Zahkriisos. _"I am no longer of this mortal realm, and my power comes from Akatosh himself. Loose thine fire!"_

Permission having been granted, Azura smiled grimly as she switched her attacks to fire-based spells. As the heat washed over Marcus, who was behind Zahkriisos, he called out, "Hey! Just remember I'm back here, too!"

"Sorry!" Azura cringed. She narrowed the focus of her attacks into powerful firebolts, dual cast at the retreating lich.

Marcus wasn't particularly worried. His ring gave him a strong protection against fire and ice. It was the lightning that worried him more right now. Zahkriisos was still too far away for melee attacks, though Hakon was determinedly driving the lich towards the Wall where Marcus waited. The water still sizzled with electricity, however, and Marcus knew that even wading into the shallow end where he was, he would be risking massive electrocution. He sent a few more firebolts towards the lich-priest, but he knew they weren't nearly as powerful as Azura's. He could have used his bow, but a missed shot would put Azura in harm's way, and he didn't want that.

Suddenly the lich gestured and a warping sound resonated through the chamber. A gurgling, pulsing noise came from behind Azura, and she turned to confront a hairy, floating, four-armed nightmare with tentacles that waved about its head.

"What _is_ that thing?" she squeaked, scrambling over another tumbled pile of rocks. She only just managed to duck behind them as the percussion of the creature's attack washed over the spot she had just occupied.

Hakon spared a glance. _"'Tis a Seeker, from Apocrypha,"_ he called out. _"A minion of Hermaeus Mora. Be wary of its attacks. It can drain your magicka as well as your health."_

"Noted!" Azura exclaimed, dodging another attack as she sprinted for the chamber entrance.

"Where are you going?" Marcus sent after her.

"I'm going to draw it off," she shouted back. "You've got enough on your plate right now."

Indeed, the Seeker floated after the Bosmer mage as she sent a paralysis spell its way to no effect.

"Damn!" she muttered. "I know I hit it! It must be immune to that." She slipped around the back of one of the pillars flanking the first chest they saw, but not before the Seeker caught her with its percussion attack. She staggered, and felt the alarming drain on her magicka.

"Not today," she gritted, dual-casting a fireball towards it. This time it was the Seeker that staggered, and Azura paused a heartbeat or two to giggle inwardly at the creature recoiling in mid-air. But the four arms were waving again, and she tumbled to the other pillar, nimbly avoiding the next attack. She launched another fireball, and noted this time that while it took damage, it didn't seem to be as much as it should have done.

Ducking back behind the pillar, she gently touched the mask at her belt. Dukaan wouldn't help her here. The mask was enchanted to give her protection from frost-based spells. She stole a glance down the chamber, where Marcus and Hakon were still fighting Zahkriisos. The summoned warrior had finally managed to push the lich close enough toward Marcus that he was able to draw his sword, and the Priest seemed to be getting the worst of the battle. She knew her friend would not be able to break free and assist her. No, she would have to do this on her own.

In all her long life, Azura had been through many barrows and dungeons, looking for bits of arcane lore, but she had never done anything as exciting as this. Her fight with Dukaan the previous year, in White Ridge Barrow, where she had obtained the mask at her belt, had been the most dangerous thing she had ever done. This topped it.

Cupping her hands together to gather the magicka, she emerged from behind the pillar. The Seeker was ready for her and sent of pulse of draining energy at her. She felt the pull on her reserves, but gritted her teeth and slammed her hands downward in the most powerful Destruction spell she knew.

Instantly, the temperature in her immediate area plummeted. It was already chilly in the barrow. Now, it became downright frigid. Her breath hung in the air in frosty crystals and the surface of the water rimed with feathery patterns of ice which thickened and whitened as she directed her magicka outward.

A blast of cold hit the Seeker and it slumped, struggling to stay upright. Its movements slowed as frost coated its exposed limbs, turning them from a vomit-green to a deeper teal as the creature began to freeze to death. The tentacles writhed painfully, contorting into tight curls against what passed for the Seeker's face, as they struggled to retain body heat. Suddenly, after several heartbeats in which it attempted to cast another attack and failed, the Seeker went rigid and winked out of existence.

Azura sank to her knees and blew out a frosty breath. Fog drifted lazily around her. "Thank the gods!" she murmured. She wasn't sure she could have taken another hit.

A screech from the other end of the chamber drew her attention and she looked up to see Marcus thrust his Akaviri sword through the chest plate of the Dragon Priest lich. The summoned warrior had vanished, and Azura assumed that his time on the mortal plane had ended before the fight did.

She got up and hurried over to Marcus as the lich dissolved into a pile of ashes in front of the Word Wall. Marcus appeared not to notice her, but turned to the Wall, seeming to commune with it for several minutes. When he turned back toward her, his grey eyes were staring at something beyond her sight. A moment later, however, he refocused on her and smiled.

"Are you alright?" he asked her kindly.

"Yes, I'm fine," Azura assured him. "I see you and Hakon managed to take out Zahkriisos." She sifted through the cremains and pulled out the mask. It was similar to hers, but she could feel the shock enhancements laid upon it.

"Yes," Marcus answered soberly. "I didn't get a chance to thank Hakon for his help, though."

"I'm sure he knows," Azura smiled. "You seem to have friends on the other side."

"I guess I do," Marcus nodded. "Did you want the mask and the staff?" He pointed to the four-foot long, dragon-carved staff lying a few feet away. Azura walked over and picked it up.

"Don't you want them?" she asked, offering them.

Marcus shook his head. "No," he told her. "I know I have to get better at using magic, but I draw the line at wearing that ridiculous-looking mask, or using a staff instead of a sword."

"Ridiculous?" Azura blurted in mock indignation. "I happen to have one that looks just like this! I don't think I look ridiculous in it!"

"You're a mage," Marcus chuckled. "Of course you wouldn't think that way. Tamsyn's the same way. She's got a few of those at home, too." He sobered, suddenly, thinking of his wife, and missing her more than ever. "We're not out of here yet," he continued. "Let's keep moving."

Azura noticed the shift in his mood, but said nothing. Intuitively, she knew why. Her companion was feeling that time was slipping away from him, and that he might never be able to bring his wife back. She hung the mask on her belt and sheathed the staff in the sling on her back, next to her bow, and followed Marcus through a side-tunnel that led to a chamber she recognized from their trip through Miraak's temple and White Ridge Barrow.

The hollow, gurgling sound that permeated the room seemed to come from Apocrypha itself, and in the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, upon which rested the by-now familiar tome of a Black Book.

"Together?" Marcus asked her as they stood in front of it.

Azura said nothing, but nodded, and they reached for it at the same time, grasping it and waiting. Nothing happened, and Marcus breathed a small sigh of relief as he placed it in his backpack, to be deposited later in Azura's chest in Tel Mithryn, with the others.

"That's three Books," Marcus said. "If Neloth has one, that's four. There are three more of them out there, somewhere. Any ideas where to start looking?"

"We should probably return to Neloth," Azura said. "He might have been able to find out more about them. He said he would try, and if Neloth is anything, he's driven. Once he gets something into his head, he doesn't let it go until he's exhausted all the possibilities."

"That's good for us," Marcus said with a faint smile. "But we'll need to get out of here first and return to Raven Rock. Crescius deserves to know what happened to his great-grandfather. And I promised Captain Veleth I'd speak to Second Councilor Arano."

"There's a staircase leading up over there," Azura pointed out. "That must be the way out."

"Nord ruins sure are linear in design," Marcus said, quirking a smile. "One way in, one way out. At least you don't get lost."

"Not like Ayleid ruins," Azura giggled. "I once got lost in one, down in Cyrodiil. It took me two days to find my way out again. I found a lot of good stuff in it, though."

The staircase led them straight up into another part of the barrow, and into a nest of reavers, who had had no idea about the secret door that opened at the back of their lair. Marcus and Azura made short work of them and found themselves emerging outside into a bright, sunny day at the same ruins Marcus had made note of on their way down the coast. The reavers outside weren't any more understanding about strangers in their midst than their companions inside had been. When four of their number fell to Marcus' and Azura's attacks, however, they seemed to have changed their minds on the matter and let the Dragonborn and his Bosmer friend leave without further molestation. They ran away, and Marcus was too tired to pursue them.

"They'll only come back," Azura pointed out. "Reavers always seem to attract the dregs of society to their numbers."

"We'll let Captain Veleth know," Marcus said. "The Redoran Guard can deal with them."

Back in Raven Rock, Marcus and Azura found Crescius in his home with his wife, Aphia.

"It turns out you were right all along, Crescius," Marcus told him with a smile. He handed the old miner the journal they'd found in the barrow, and showed the old Nord the Bloodskal Blade he'd found down there.

"Wonderful!" Crescius crowed. "Let me see that journal!" He turned several pages, skimming through them, and finally said smugly, "Ha! I knew it! Gratian's death wasn't because of a rockfall. It was just a story to keep people away from the tombs!" He beamed at Marcus. "Now that I have his journal in hand, I can get some closure from the East Empire Company. Make them pay for lying to everyone."

"Speaking of East Empire Company," Marcus mused, "would you know anything about this?" He pulled the amulet he'd found out of his belt pouch, handing it to Crescius.

The grey-haired Nord turned it over and over. "Hmmm, no," he admitted. "It looks very old, but I've never seen anything like it before. You found this down in the mine?"

Marcus nodded. "Is there anyone else in Raven Rock who might know?" he asked.

"Fethis Alor might," Aphia replied, looking at the amulet over her husband's shoulder. "He deals in all sorts of things, old and new. He might know what it is."

"I'll ask him," Marcus nodded, taking the amulet back. "Thanks, Aphia. Well, good luck, Crescius. I'm glad Azura and I were able to help you."

"Thank you, Marcus," Crescius smiled. "Now, I believe I owe you a little more than a debt of gratitude for all that work you did." He pulled out a small pouch of coin, firmly thrusting it into the younger man's hands in spite of Marcus' refusal. "I know it's not much, but it's the best an old, retired miner can do."

"Crescius, really, you should keep this," Marcus demurred, but the older man waved him off.

"I won't take no for an answer," he said stubbornly, and behind him, Aphia rolled her eyes.

"Better take it," she put in. "Or Crescius won't get any rest, thinking he still owes you for what you did."

Marcus chuckled. "Alright," he said finally. "Though I assure you it's not necessary. I didn't do it for the money."

Bidding them both farewell, Marcus and Azura headed out into the streets.

"So now I guess we should talk to Second Councilor Arano," Marcus said. "I wonder what's on his mind."

"Well, actually…" Azura began.

Marcus turned to face her.

"Something wrong, Azura?" he asked.

"No, of course not!" she exclaimed. "It's just that I think I should head back to Tel Mithryn to wait for Neloth. I can take the Black Book with me, and the Bloodskal Blade, too, if you like. I just want to make sure he's actually doing the research he promised."

"I thought you said he was pretty single-minded," Marcus drawled.

"He is," Azura grimaced. "But he _can_ get side-tracked on occasion. I just want to keep his feet to the fire."

"Alright," Marcus nodded. "You go on ahead, then. I'll head out and meet you there as soon as I've finished with Arano."

He carefully handed over the Book and the Blade and put his hand on her shoulder as she turned to leave.

"You be careful, okay?" he insisted, staring at her intently.

Azura nodded. "I will be," she promised. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Marcus chuckled. "I'm just going to find out what the Councilor wants," he assured her. "How much trouble can that be?"

He knew as soon as he said the words that he should have kept his big mouth shut.

* * *

 _[Next up, Marcus finds himself embroiled in a nefarious plot to assassinate the leader of Solstheim, and Tamsyn struggles with the Daedra's deal she's made with Miraak.]  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Marcus made his way north of town, as Captain Veleth had indicated, looking for Second Councilor Arano. He found him halfway to the Earth Stone, just past a rather large, solitary house set back from the road.

"Thank you for coming, Marcus of Whiterun," Arano greeted him. "After all you've already done for Raven Rock, I hate to ask for more, but I can't risk Councilor Morvayn being killed."

Instantly alert, Marcus asked carefully, "What makes you think the Councilor's life is in danger?"

Arano sighed. "The Ulen Family of House Hlaalu – a rival Great House – has placed a deathmark on the Councilor's head."

"Why?" Marcus inquired. "If you don't mind my asking, that is. What did Morvayn do to the Ulens?"

"He once ordered an execution of a member of House Hlaalu, for treason, many years ago. He had irrefutable proof that Vilur Ulen was attempting a coup that would have thrown Morrowind into chaos for many years to come. Now I suspect that there may be hostile members of House Hlaalu living undercover right here in Raven Rock. Unfortunately, suspicions aren't proof, and before I accuse anyone, I need that."

"So what did you want me to do?" Getting involved in an internal civil war was the last thing on Marcus' agenda, but Second Councilor Arano seemed very agitated – for a Dunmer – and genuinely concerned for the safety of his superior. In truth, an assassination of the head man of Raven Rock – and by extension, all of Solstheim – would do no one any good. Marcus knew that Skyrim frequently shipped goods to Morrowind and Solstheim, and received merchandise in return. Keeping a stable trade relation intact was beneficial to both sides. And if that meant doing a favor for the Second Councilor, it was a small thing to ask.

"I'd like you to be my eyes and ears in Raven Rock," Arano told him, "and see what you can discover. Raven Rock is a small community, and everyone knows everyone. Any time I try to find something out, the information melts away. But you are a stranger here. You may be able to learn something I haven't been able to yet. Talk to Geldis Sadri at the Retching Netch. He's a bit of a gossip, but you can trust him. He's been with us for years, in spite of his reputation. He has a few ideas that I have not been able to make work."

"I'll make no promises," Marcus cautioned him. "But I'll see what I can find out."

"That's all I ask, Marcus," Arano smiled. "You've already eased my mind a bit. Thank you."

Marcus took his leave and headed for the Retching Netch.

"Here to rent your room for another night?" Geldis Sadri smiled.

"Yes, please," Marcus said, handing over the coin. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a relative in Windhelm, would you?"

"Who, Revyn?" Geldis smiled. "He runs that general store, Sadri's Used Wares, right? Never 'eard of him." He winked and chuckled. "Just kidding. He's my cousin. Our fathers were brothers. He's older than me by a couple of years, but I never lose an opportunity of rubbing it in. How's he doing? When did you see him last?"

"A few months ago," Marcus admitted. "He's doing well." He deliberately didn't mention the time Revyn had conned him into returning Viola Giordano's stolen ring. "I'd be willing to pass a message along to him for you, when I return to Skyrim."

Geldis beamed. "That's real nice of you! I'll sit down tonight and work on a letter. I appreciate that! Anything I can get you right now? Sujamma? Shein? Matze?"

"No, nothing like that," Marcus said, lowering his voice. "I'm really looking for information."

Immediately Geldis dropped his own volume. "Ohhh," he whispered, conspiratorially. "Arano's got you on the case of the Ulen Family, eh?"

"Does everyone know about that?" Marcus asked in consternation.

"No, not everyone," Geldis assured him. "But I know it's been on his mind lately. He's just going about it all wrong."

Marcus gave him a sharp look. "And you'd do it differently?"

Geldis shrugged. "Look, if you want to catch those slippery slaughterfish, you have to make them come to you."

"How do I do that?"

"There's an Ulen Ancestral Tomb near the Temple," Geldis explained. "Someone's been leaving ash yam offerings on the altar inside. Now it seems to me that whoever is leaving them might know something useful. But Arano and his team of Redoran Guards have never been able to catch anyone actually doing it when they go to the Tomb. You, being an ordinary citizen, and a stranger here, might be able to go there and wait and see who shows up."

"I'm not going to accuse anyone of murder plots," Marcus frowned.

"You won't need to," Geldis said, shaking his head. "Just see who it is and let Arano know. He'll take care of the rest."

Marcus considered this. "Sounds like a better plan than chasing shadows," he agreed. "Thanks, Geldis." He placed a few coins on the counter, which Geldis scooped up and pocketed, rewarding the Dragonborn with a smile.

"Good luck!" he called after Marcus' retreating back.

Outside, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the hazy daylight, and coughed as the ash caught the back of his throat. It took only a moment to cast the healing spell Azura had taught him to clear his lungs and he immediately felt immeasurably better.

"Azura taught you that trick, didn't she?" a Dunmer called from his seat in front of his home. An assortment of wares were spread out on boards and carpets around him. Nearby, a tanning rack was set up and a basketful of hides waited to be cured.

"You know Azura?" Marcus asked him.

"Everyone in Raven Rock knows Azura," the Dunmer smiled. "She's helped nearly everyone in town, I guess. Name's Fethis Alor. Anything you're looking for, I probably have. You're that Marcus feller from Whiterun, aren't you?"

"That would be me," Marcus admitted. "I think Aphia Carellius mentioned you to me."

"Ah, Aphia! There's a nice lady," Fethis smiled. "Don't know what she sees in that old codger of a husband of hers, but I suppose it takes all types."

"Yeah, Crescius takes some getting used to," Marcus nodded. "I wonder, though, can you tell me anything about this?" He pulled the silver amulet he'd found in the mine out of his belt pouch.

Fethis' eyes widened. "Well, now, it's been awhile since I've seen one of these!" he murmured. "I used to sell lots of these, until I ran out," he went on. "This is an East Empire Company pendant. They used to give these to their workers as an incentive at one point…a kind of reward for extra effort."

"Are they rare?" Marcus asked.

"Well, they're no longer being made," Fethis nodded, "so they've become collectible. I'd love to get my hands on a few more of them. Are you selling this one? I'd pay you a fair price for it."

Marcus hesitated. "I think I'll hang onto this one for now," he finally said. "If I come across another one, it's yours."

"Fair enough," Fethis replied. "I'll take any you can find off your hands. The old mines are a good place to look for them, but they could be scattered all over Solstheim."

Marcus nodded his thanks and turned to leave. An altercation nearby, however, caught his attention before he could head for the Temple. A Dunmer selling produce was arguing with an Orc. Behind the Orc, a rat-faced Dunmer hovered, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. Marcus didn't like the looks of this.

"Oh…hello, Mogrul," the farmer said nervously. "Care for anything from my stand?"

"Ash yams, Garyn?" the Orc sneered in disgust. "I'd rather eat cheese that's been sitting in the sun for a week."

Garyn's tone became pleading. "Look, I know why you're here," he said. "I'll get the coin, I promise!"

Mogrul gave a cruel smile. "If you want that beautiful wife of yours to stay that way, you'd better."

He strode off, with his toady following close behind. Pausing at Milore's stall, he glowered at her, and she shrank back from the glare.

"Milore, you need to talk some sense into your husband," he stated baldly.

"You can't get blood from a stone, Mogrul," Milore pleaded with him. "As it is, we can barely make ends meet."

"That isn't my problem," Mogrul dismissed her. "I was clear when I loaned Garyn the money that I wanted it back by the first harvest."

Milore sighed. "I'll see what I can do…"

Mogrul grunted and headed for the Retching Netch, disappearing inside.

Marcus stood there for several minutes, fuming in the hazy sunshine, getting his temper under control.

"Are you alright?" Fethis asked from his rug.

"Who was that sonofabitch?" Marcus asked quietly.

"The Orc?" Fethis shuddered. "That's Mogrul. He's a money-lender. Nearly everyone in Raven Rock is in debt to him to some degree or other."

"And no one does anything about it?" Marcus demanded. He hated usurers. They preyed on those who could ill afford the exorbitant fees they charged for their services, but who felt they had no place left to turn. Raven Rock was a town that had seen better days, but that didn't mean scum like Mogrul could come in and take advantage of others' misfortune.

"He's not doing anything illegal…that he's been caught at, that is," Fethis offered, unhappily. "But he's a bully, and takes advantage of our fear. I think I might be the only one _he_ owes money to. He hasn't paid me for months."

Marcus turned back to face the Dunmer. "The money-lender owes _you_ money?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Fethis scowled. "He bought some potions off me last Rain's Hand. I'm a patient man, but it's been four months now, and Mogrul's made no attempt to pay me the two thousand septims he owes me. I don't think he ever will. Every time I bring the subject up, he says to 'put it on his account.'"

Marcus frowned. "Can't you get the Redoran Guard to shake him down for it?"

"They've been too busy with the ash spawn attacks, and…well…" Fethis' voice trailed off and he shifted uncomfortably. "Some of those things I got for him weren't exactly…legal."

Marcus nodded in dawning understanding. By involving the Redoran Guard to enforce what Mogrul owed him, Fethis would be implicating himself in contraband.

"What if I talk to him for you?" he offered. It wasn't that he condoned Fethis' line of trade, but he didn't like bullies making threats against family members. He liked Milore, and if Mogrul laid a hand on her, there would be Oblivion to pay.

"That might help me," Fethis acknowledged, "but it will make it harder on people like Garyn and Drovas and others who have borrowed money from him, just to get by."

"I'll make him see reason," Marcus promised. "He might find easier pickings in Blacklight after this."

So saying he headed back to the Retching Netch, only to practically collide with Mogrul as he came out of the tavern again.

"Watch what you're doing, pipsqueak!" the Orc muttered, sweeping out a massive forearm to brush the Imperial aside. Marcus grabbed the arm and with a neat twist brought it up behind Mogrul and held it there. The Orc struggled, but Marcus had the leverage.

The weasley Dunmer behind him drew his sword and Marcus barked out, _"ZUN!"_ The blade went flying and Marcus yanked Mogrul's arm painfully again, adding to the Dunmer, "This is between Mogrul and me. Stay out of it."

A crowd was beginning to form around the marketplace, but Marcus didn't care.

"You owe Fethis Alor two thousand septims, Mogrul," Marcus said evenly. "It's time to pay up."

"Who in Oblivion are you to—AHH!" He yelped as Marcus, with his free hand, rapidly punched several nerve points on the Orc's body. They were slightly different than in a human, and he was grateful for the insights Durak at Fort Dawnguard had given him.

He released Mogrul's arm, knowing the Orc would be heavily handicapped if he tried to wield a weapon, but the bully was eyeing the Dragonborn warily. "Who says I owe him money? That skooma dealer? Hah! He'll get his money when he can pry it from my cold, dead fingers, not before."

 _Skooma?_ Marcus' resolve faltered a bit. Fethis hadn't told him it was skooma. Seeing the fleeting look of distraction on the Imperial's face, Mogrul grabbed a handful of ash and sand and threw it into Marcus' eyes before leaping up to pummel him into the ground. He knew that as long as weapons weren't drawn, the Redoran Guard would look the other way.

Blinded, his eyes streaming, Marcus rolled to one side, but could not escape Mogrul, who was on him in a second. Huge, beefy mattocks slammed into his face, and only the dragonbone helmet saved his nose from getting crushed. Knowing better than to try and head-bash an Orc, Marcus opted instead to buy himself time to fight on an even footing. Since Mogrul hadn't drawn a weapon, he wouldn't either.

" _FEIM!"_ he Shouted, going insubstantial instantly. Mogrul's next swipe went completely through him, causing the Orc to cry out in pain again as he slammed his fist into the rocks under the sand. Marcus took advantage of his condition to scramble to his feet and back away, digging the sand and ash out of his eyes.

The cool-down period for a single-word Shout was far quicker than if he had used a fully voiced one, Marcus knew, and since this was a street brawl, and life or death was not on the line here, he decided to keep it simple. But he had already learned an important fact: Mogrul fought dirty, relying on his size and strength to intimidate and overpower weaker opponents. Marcus had been caught off-guard, but he was far from weak.

Some of the Redoran Guard were stopping to watch, but did not interfere. It occurred to Marcus that some of them might be in debt to Mogrul as well. He could feel the _thu'um_ fading and prepared himself. Mogrul was no stranger to fighting. He used no magicka, and as far as Marcus could tell, didn't know any spells. Marcus did, but the only ones he knew which might be useful were Destruction spells, and he wasn't out to kill Mogrul; he only wanted to teach him a lesson.

Now the two opponents went at it in earnest. Mogrul was powerful, but he was huge and slow. Marcus was more agile, and used that to his advantage. At several points during the fight, Mogrul taunted him to "stand still and fight like a man," or to "come here so I can pound you into the sand." Marcus, wisely, chose to ignore the taunts. He used his tae kwon do to target Mogrul's central nervous system and his Shouts to soften him up. Staying out the Orc's way was his primary goal. He wanted to wear the not-so-jolly green giant down. And his plan was working. Mogrul was breathing harder than he was under the ash-laden sky.

He had nearly beaten Mogrul when someone – he thought it was Milore – called out, "Marcus! Behind you!"

Whirling, he saw the wiry Dunmer, Mogrul's companion, sneaking up on him with his sword raised, prepared to strike him down.

" _FUS RO DAH!"_ Marcus bellowed.

The little guy rag-dolled across the marketplace to slam against Glover Mallory's smelter, where he lay unmoving. A couple of the Redoran Guard went over to check on him.

"Slitter!" Mogrul cried out.

"I said this was between you and me, Mogrul," Marcus replied calmly. "I warned him. Now, are you going to pay Fethis what you owe him?"

Mogrul glared at the Imperial in the odd armor. This was no ordinary person, to be sure. He was the only one of these milk-drinkers who had dared to stand up to him, and he had to admit, he couldn't take much more of the brutalizing he was getting at this man's hands, though his opponent looked like he could have kept going for hours.

He pulled a pouch off his belt and threw it into the dirt at Marcus' feet. "There it is. Take it. Count it, you spawn." He spat his disgust at Marcus. There was blood in the spittle. "And listen, if you ever come to Raven Rock again, I'll push steel through your guts."

"I don't think so," Marcus said calmly, picking up the pouch, "because you're leaving Raven Rock on the next ship out. Go to Blacklight or go to Oblivion, I don't care, but you're to leave now and never come back…or you won't be leaving at all." The last was said in a flat tone that brooked no argument, and even Mogrul gulped at the cold look in his opponent's eyes.

Glancing around at the crowd, all eagerly waiting to see what would happen next, and finding no support there – even from the Redoran Guard – Mogrul knew when it was time to cut his losses. "Fine," he growled. "I'm leaving. You'd better hope our paths never cross again, stranger. I don't know why you'd even give a damn about these pathetic losers here, but if I ever see you again, I won't hesitate to kill you."

"I think you'd find that a lot harder than you think, Mogrul," Marcus said in a deadly quiet tone. "And the name you're looking for is Marcus of Whiterun, also known as Dragonborn."

"Dragon—" Realization hit Mogrul, and fear crept into the dull purple eyes. As quickly as he could, he got to his feet and limped over to where Slitter lay, still unmoving. He felt for a pulse, and seemed satisfied that his bodyguard still lived, because he picked the Dunmer up and slung him over his shoulder. He didn't stop to pack anything, but headed directly towards the docks.

When the two disappeared from sight, the marketplace erupted into cheers, and the patrons swarmed around Marcus to congratulate him, thank him profusely, and shake his hand. Milore Ienth even went so far as to fling her arms around his neck and hug the stuffing out of him. Turon Areth pulled off his helmet and clasped wrists with him.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting rid of that low-life!" he grinned. "I know Captain Veleth has wanted to arrest Mogrul for some time now, but we never found anything we could pin on him. Your method was _much_ more satisfying!"

"Yeah, well, it might have been fun to watch," Marcus winced, "but it wasn't so much fun to go through. That bastard can throw a punch!" He wiped the corner of his mouth with his gauntlet and found it covered in blood. A quick healing spell set him to rights, and he realized he was still holding the pouch of coin that belonged to Fethis.

Yes…Fethis. Marcus frowned. There was a conversation that needed to be had with that particular merchant.

The smile fell off the Dunmer trader's face as Marcus approached him, glowering.

"You didn't tell me it was skooma," he accused in a low voice.

"Yes…well…it just…I mean…" Fethis floundered into silence. Nothing he could say could put that right, he knew.

"No. More. Skooma," Marcus intoned. _"Ever!_ Understand?"

"I promise, Marcus," Fethis gulped, "as Azura is my witness, I'll never deal in that stuff again. It was only for Mogrul."

"No more!"

Fethis nodded meekly, and accepted the coin pouch from Marcus, putting it away carefully as the Dragonborn turned and strode away, leaving the celebration behind.

As he headed for the Temple, Marcus saw the _Northern Maiden_ slipping her moorings and heading out to sea. Huddled at the stern end were two figures, an Orc and a Dunmer, gazing back at the city they once called home. Marcus didn't feel the least bit sorry for them.

Mounting the steps to the Temple, he saw Second Councilor Arano arguing with a mer who appeared to be the residing priest. He struggled to remember what Turon Areth had told him when he first arrived:

" _We don't have a healer in Raven Rock. You might be able to convince Elder Othreloth at the Temple to help you, though. He's a good mer."_

Othreloth! That was the priest's name!

"You wanted to speak to me, Elder?" Arano inquired, his back to Marcus.

"I did indeed," Othreloth replied, his brow knit with worry. "When are you going to do something about our central Ancestral Tomb? I can't even go down there any longer. It's getting intolerable!"

"I'm sorry, Elder," Arano sighed. "I'm doing the best I can."

"I appreciate your problems, Adril," the priest said kindly, "but I can't be expected to run a temple with those…things running around in there."

"With all due respect," Arano answered stiffly, "those 'things' aren't the only problem we have right now. Be patient, keep the door locked, and we'll get there when we can."

Othreloth looked decidedly unhappy with the answer. "Hmph!" he grunted. "Very well. I'll just have to find someone else to assist us, then."

He spotted Marcus, lingering behind the Second Councilor at the same time as Arano turned to leave.

"Ah!" Arano cried delightedly. "Marcus of Whiterun! Perhaps you might be able to help the Elder?"

"He's not Dunmer," Othreloth said flatly. "He doesn't even believe in the same gods we do. You're asking me to accept help from…from an outsider?"

"Of course not," Arano said smoothly, before Marcus could reply. "I'm asking you to be patient and wait until my men and I can look into the matter. But it might take some time."

He turned away from the Elder and gave Marcus a wink before striding down the stairs.

"Councilor!" Elder Othreloth cried. "Adril! Wait!" He sagged and heaved a sigh, eyeing Marcus suspiciously.

"I'd be happy to help you any way I can," Marcus said politely. He had dealt with querulous old men before. Diplomacy was always the best tactic. And if he used his Voice of the Emperor to cheat a little in persuading the old priest to accept his help, no one would know but him.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you try," Othreloth groused. "This is where we inter our dead. They are sacred places, meant to honor their passing. Sadly, we are unable to use the Ancestral Tomb beneath the Temple as of late, and have resorted to other locations to scatter the remains."

"What, exactly, is the problem?" Marcus asked.

"Ash spawn have taken over the tomb," Othreloth explained. "It's impossible to perform the proper burial rituals."

 _Ash spawn, eh?_ Marcus thought privately. Well, he'd handled those before, and he couldn't deny the ores and gems they dropped afterwards were tempting.

"I can take care of that for you," he promised Othreloth.

"Very well," the old priest agreed. "But mind you treat the tombs with respect! No looting, understand?"

Marcus was shocked, and more than a little mortified, since that's what he had been doing since he'd come to Skyrim. But this was a formal, active Tomb. Looting here was the furthest thing from his mind.

And yet he had been thinking of doing just that to the ash spawn.

 _Didn't Captain Veleth suggest they were created from the ancestral dead?_

Struggling with his dragon soul, the avaricious part of his nature that he kept such a firm control upon, Marcus nodded. "I'll be respectful," he assured the old Dunmer. "No looting."

"Good," Othreloth smiled. "Here is the key. This should let you into the lower Tombs."

It was cool and quiet below in the tomb. The choking pall of ash wasn't as bad here, but it had still found its way in, and lay in drifted piles in the corners of the catacomb. Marcus crept in cautiously. He'd already seen how the spawn had a tendency to rise from the mounds of ash without warning. Sure enough, two of them rose from the raised berms where the cremation of the dead usually took place.

Marcus took them out quickly, resisting the temptation to pick through the ashes left behind. Two more spawn rose from the beds nearby, and two others from the far end of the mortuary.

 _Uh oh, this is not good,_ he thought. One or two ash spawn at a time, he could handle. Three or four of them at once? Now it became a problem. He used the Slow Time Shout to give him an advantage to hit more precisely and quickly, but as he took out the first two, more of the spawn were rising. He was getting swarmed. No wonder the Elders couldn't come down here!

The Dismay Shout helped a little, causing a few of them to cower at the back of the tomb, so he could concentrate on one or two at a time, but it would wear off just as several more began to emerge.

The ring he wore afforded him some protection from the constant barrage of fireballs being lobbed his way by the spawn, and he managed to gulp down one fire resistance potion he had in his belt pouch, but he was still getting roasted. Dodging between the pillars only helped a little bit, and more spawn were rising from the ashes. He needed help.

" _HUN!"_

He only used the first Word of the Shout. In truth, he was dodging fireballs left and right, and too busy keeping his skin intact. He also needed the faster cool-down to be able to Shout something else as soon as possible. Gormlaith Golden-Hilt stepped through the portal and assessed the situation.

" _What be these foul abominations, Dragonborn?"_ she asked in wonder.

"They're called ash spawn, Gormlaith," he told her, shooting an Ice Spike through the midsection of one, while slicing through the arm of another. "We need to clear them out of here."

" _They shall feel the wrath of my blade this day!"_ she announced, and drew her steel with a feral grin.

Having someone at his back made all the difference in the world. The fireballs still hurt, but Marcus found he could anticipate them coming in, and throw up a ward to take the worst of the damage. The fire seemed not to affect Gormlaith at all. She laid about her with her blade, and used both her Ice Form and Frost Breath Shouts to good effect. Marcus took his cue from her, and since he now had back-up, was able to give full voice to his _thu'um_.

" _Thou art becoming more like Feldir, the Old,"_ Gormlaith noted at one point, cleaving one ash spawn midway through its torso. It crumbled to ashes shortly after. _"My Greybeard friend doth also use his spells as often as his sword."_

Marcus felt unaccountably pleased to be compared to the ancient First Tongue.

It was perhaps another ten minutes before silence once more settled over the Ancestral Tomb.

"Thank you for the help, Gormlaith," Marcus said sincerely, clasping wrists with the Heroine.

"' _Tis I who thank thee, Dragonborn,"_ Gormlaith acknowledged. _"My sword gets little use in Sovngarde, with the World Eater defeated. There is a soul among us, called Kodlak, who wishes to rally enough support to invade the Hunting Grounds, but Shor has not yet given his approval for that mission."_

"I know Kodlak," Marcus grinned. "He's persistent. I'm sure he'll get his way, eventually. I can understand, though, why Akatosh wouldn't want to upset the apple cart right now." A shadow crossed his face as he thought of Tamsyn, still stuck in Apocrypha. He needed to finish up this promise to Councilor Arano so he could get back to that.

" _Aye, thou hast discerned the reason Shor holds us back, Dragonborn,"_ Gormlaith nodded, soberly. _"A war with the Daedra will do no one any good, especially thy Lady. Thou must proceed with caution."_

"I'm doing the best I can," Marcus said helplessly. "I guess I never realized how much I depended on his voice in my head to guide me."

" _Thou art doing well, so far,"_ Gormlaith praised him. _"Use thy Shouts; explore their various uses. Expand thy knowledge of magic. The Dunmer lass, Azura, will help thee. Thou hast bought time, with thy College keeping the Arch-Mage alive, but the sands are running through the hourglass, and soon it may be too late to save her."_

Marcus swallowed hard and nodded, thanking her again as she dissipated back to Sovngarde. He left the Tomb to return to Elder Othreloth.

"The Tomb is clear," he reported. "The ash spawn are gone."

"Wonderful!" the old Dunmer cried. "I really didn't think you could do it! You have my thanks, stranger. Here, take this for your trouble." A hefty coin pouch was shoved into Marcus' hands as the old priest headed inside, calling to his assistant, "Galdrus! Come! The Tomb has been cleared, and we have many rites to catch up on."

"At once, Elder!" the young Dunmer exclaimed, getting up from his place near the door. He set the book he had been reading down on his chair and followed the old priest inside. Marcus took a look inside the pouch. There was, he estimated, nearly two thousand septims inside. No wonder it was heavy! No one could say Elder Othreloth was stingy, that was for certain.

It was time, now, Marcus realized, to do what he had promised Councilor Arano. He left the main Temple and found the Ulen Ancestral Tomb, heading inside, praying to whatever Divines were listening that there was no more ash spawn inside.

There wasn't. He had the place to himself. He found a place to wait where he would not be immediately noticed and settled himself in. _I should have brought a book,_ he thought with amusement.

As it happened, he had only been sitting an hour or so when someone entered. Marcus recognized her from a few days previous, at Milore's stall. She certainly stood out among the other Dunmer, being nearly as finely dressed as Councilor Arano.

"Tilisu Severin," Azura had told him when he'd asked. "She and her husband Vendil, and daughter Mirri, are the richest people in Raven Rock. They own that house just north of town. It's odd though, that Mirri seems to be almost as old as her father. Oh well, perhaps he's just aged well."

Tilisu didn't see him at first, but placed her ash yams on the altar and raised her hands in silent supplication to the Daedra the Dunmer worshipped. When he shifted to get a better look, she started, whirling around to face him.

"Oh! Excuse me!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize there was anyone else here."

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Marcus smiled kindly. "What are you doing here?"

"I presume the same thing you're doing," Tilisu said drily, eyeing him suspiciously. "Leaving an offering for the departed."

"That's very generous of you," Marcus allowed. "But you aren't a member of the Ulen family. Why do it?" He watched her carefully as he spoke, but Tilisu revealed nothing in her face or her manner.

"Since there aren't any Ulens left on this island, I've taken it upon myself to leave the traditional offering in their stead," she replied in a neutral tone.

"I'm sorry to have interrupted you, then," Marcus smiled and bowed. "I'll let you get to it, then."

"Oh, no bother," Tilisu said hastily, smiling back, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "We all have a right to be here."

Marcus bowed again politely and left the Tomb, wandering back to the market, where Captain Veleth directed him to the large house just south of Glover Mallory's smithy. "That's Morvayn Manor," he told Marcus. "It's where the Councilors live, but it's also our town hall, if you want to think of it in those terms," he said. "You'll find Councilor Morvayn and Second Councilor Arano in there."

Unsure whether he should just walk in or be announced, Marcus hesitated. But as Captain Veleth had already resumed his patrol and was walking away, he shrugged and opened the door.

At the far end of the hall, which wasn't very large, Second Councilor Arano was deep in conversation with a bearded, red-haired Dunmer in fine clothing. This must be Councilor Morvayn.

"Did you look over next month's expenses, Adril?" the ruler of Solstheim asked. "Will we have enough?"

"No, Councilor," Arano admitted. "I'm afraid we're going to fall short once again."

Councilor Morvayn sighed. "Very well, cover the difference from my personal treasury."

Adril Arano cleared his throat delicately. "Your coffers are running low, Councilor. At this rate, your treasury will be empty by next winter."

Lleril Morvayn gave a weary sigh. "It doesn't matter, Adril. I'm responsible for those people, and I'll make whatever sacrifices are necessary to keep them alive."

Both mer stopped speaking as they noticed Marcus standing there, but Marcus felt himself warm to the ruler of Solstheim. He genuinely cared about his people! Now he was more determined than ever to help stop whatever assassination plot was brewing against Councilor Morvayn.

"Ah! Marcus of Whiterun!" Second Councilor Arano exclaimed. "Councilor, may I present the man who has already helped the people of Raven Rock in the short time he's been here. This is Marcus of Whiterun."

Lleril Morvayn chuckled. "Adril, you fussy bookworm! Haven't you yet recognized who this is?"

"I'm afraid I've been rather busy, Councilor," Arano said stiffly. "I don't listen to gossip, you know."

At that, Lleril threw his head back and laughed, loud and long. "Adril, this is the _Dragonborn!_ Even _I_ recognized the name! And even if I hadn't, who else walks around Tamriel in armor made from dragon bones?"

The Councilor turned to Marcus, still grinning, and extended his hand. "Welcome to Raven Rock, Dragonborn! I'm sorry I couldn't have arranged meeting you upon your arrival. If you had but sent word, I'm sure I could have arranged a feast in your honor."

"Thank you, Councilor Morvayn," Marcus smiled. "That's really not necessary. I prefer to travel incognito when I can."

"What brings you to Raven Rock, then?" the Councilor asked.

Marcus threw a look at Adril Arano, who shook his head ever so slightly behind his superior. So Lleril Morvayn was unaware of the plot against him? Very well.

"A Daedric Prince kidnapped my wife, and is holding her in Apocrypha," Marcus said. "The clues to rescuing her are supposed to be here on Solstheim."

Lleril's eyes widened. "A Daedric…not one of ours, surely?"

Marcus hesitated. He wasn't completely certain which Daedra the Dunmer worshipped. "It was Hermaeus Mora," he finally said. The Councilor slumped in relief.

"Oh, thank goodness!" he breathed. "I would be embarrassed to think it might be Azura, or Boethiah, or Mephala."

 _I wouldn't put it past Mephala,_ Marcus thought sourly.

"Adril, I want you to make sure that Marcus has all the resources he needs, will you?"

"Of course, Councilor," Second Councilor Arano assured him. "I don't mean to put too fine a point on it, of course, but our coffers _are_ stretched a bit thin at the moment—"

"I don't need anything, really," Marcus hastened to assure them. "I just need the freedom to explore where I have to in order to find the clues to getting my wife back."

"Of course, of course," Lleril Morvayn smiled. "Your contributions have earned you citizenship here already, my friend," he continued. "Traveling beyond The Bulwark will be much safer as the result of your victory at Fort Frostmoth. I'll always consider you one of us." He shook Marcus' hand again warmly, and in spite of the worry on his mind, Marcus smiled back.

"Councilor, if you don't mind," Adril Arano inserted. "I would like to speak to…er…the Dragonborn, here, on a few subjects that weigh upon my mind."

"Don't let him go on too much about the security of Raven Rock," Lleril Morvayn murmured in Marcus' ear, giving him a wink as he clapped him on the shoulder before heading for the cooler environs of the rooms downstairs.

"Well?" Arano hissed as soon as Morvayn was out of earshot. "What did you learn? Did anyone come to the Ulen Tomb?"

"Tilisu Severin did," Marcus reported.

"Tilisu?" Arano blinked. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'm standing here," Marcus replied. "I didn't confront her. Just asked her why, if she wasn't an Ulen, she was leaving an offering at their altar."

"What did she say?"

Marcus shrugged. "That since there weren't any Ulens left in Raven Rock, she'd taken it upon herself to honor their dead." He spread his hands out helplessly. "Honestly, I can't see anything suspicious about that at all, though she did seem very wary about me."

"About you?"

"Well, yeah, considering I'm an Imperial, not a Dunmer, and I happen to be waiting in the shadows of a Dunmer family's ancestral Tomb. _That's_ not cause for alarm at _all!"_ This last was heavily laced with sarcasm.

"I would rather you hadn't let her see you at all," Arano frowned. "You may have tipped our hand."

"Then you should have hired someone from the Thieves' Guild to do the job," Marcus said flatly. "I don't sneak very well."

"Well, it's done," Adril Arano said. "We can't take it back now. If Tilisu's involved in any sort of plot to harm Councilor Morvayn, I'm going to need hard evidence to prove it."

"So get a search warrant and search their house," Marcus shrugged.

"This isn't Cyrodiil," Arano scowled. "We don't have Imperial Rule here. I can't just search their property on suspicion and circumstantial evidence. The Severin family is highly influential in Raven Rock, and they have shared their wealth with our community for years. If you're wrong about Tilisu, things would quickly go downhill around here, and the real culprits might slip away. I can't afford for that to happen."

Marcus frowned. "Then how do we get proof?"

From his pocket, Councilor Arano pulled a large key and passed it over to Marcus. "This key should open the front door of Severin Manor, in case they've locked it. I know you said you don't sneak very well, but for the sake of the safety of Councilor Morvayn, I'm asking you to sneak in there to see what you can learn. Do whatever it takes to find evidence of the Severin family's innocence or involvement in this matter, by whatever means necessary."

Marcus blew out a sigh. "Alright, let's just suppose for a moment that they're in it up to their eyeballs. They aren't exactly going to give up that evidence willingly."

Adril Arano gave him a somber look. "If you find the evidence, and it places your life in danger, I would expect you to do whatever you must to keep yourself alive. Good luck, Marcus!"

The Dragonborn left Morvayn Manor, frustrated and angry. He wanted to help uncover a plot – if there was one – but had expected Second Councilor Arano to send the Redoran Guard under Captain Veleth to search the Severin residence. This cloak-and-dagger crap was way out of his league. But, he reminded himself, this was Morrowind, not Skyrim, and they did things differently here. It was all a matter of saving face, he supposed.

If he searched and found nothing, the Severins would be pissed at him, and probably call for him to be punished in some manner. Councilors Morvayn and Arano could declare they knew nothing about it – at least _one_ of them would be telling the truth – and while Arano would have his back, the worst that might happen would be he'd get banished from Raven Rock. That would make finding Tamsyn more problematic. He better hope he found something.

Marcus looked around the marketplace. The crowds had dissipated and the shops were closing up. His stomach growled alarmingly and he realized he couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd eaten. He decided to remedy _that_ oversight before tackling the pressing issue of the Severins.

Inside the Netch, several more patrons came up to him, thanking him for dealing with Mogrul. Even Geldis waved off his money, telling him his meal was "on the house."

"I've been trying to keep that fetcher out of my place for months, now," he told Marcus as he set a steaming bowl of horker stew in front of him. "He actually threatened me at one point! _Me!_ In my _own place!_ Stupid n'wah! You let me know if you need anything else, Marcus!" he smiled before hurrying off to fetch drinks for his other patrons.

Marcus ate quietly, alone in his corner, having little desire for company at the moment.

" _Marcus? Are you there?"_

It was Azura, contacting him through his ear-bud.

"I'm here, Azura," he murmured quietly, tapping his earring. "What's up?"

" _I just wondered if you've started out for Tel Mithryn yet?"_

"Not yet," he admitted. "Something's come up."

" _Oh?"_ she queried. _"Do I need to come back?"_

"Where are you now?" he countered.

" _I've just reached Fort Frostmoth,"_ she replied. _"But I can come back if you need me."_

She was already over half-way to Tel Mithryn. "No, no," he said hastily. "It's nothing I can't handle. Just checking something out for Councilor Arano. I'll head your way when I'm done here."

" _Alright, if you're sure,"_ she replied, though there was doubt, and perhaps a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

In point of fact, Marcus really didn't want her to see him breaking and entering a private residence to look for evidence that might or might not actually be there.

"I'm sure," he said quietly, injecting a lighter tone into his voice by smiling as he spoke. "This shouldn't take me too much longer. I should be at Tel Mithryn by morning."

" _I'll see you then!"_

The connection was severed, and Marcus was alone with his thoughts again.

He waited a little longer, trying one of Geldis' special sujammas that Azura liked so much, and discovered it tasted quite a bit like rum. It wasn't bad, but a little went a long way and he declined a second flask. He needed a clear head.

Finally, he knew he could put it off no longer. He was procrastinating – a trait he found irritating in others.

 _Let's just do this and get it over with, Marcus,_ he told himself, and left the Retching Netch, heading north past the smithy and the apothecary shop to the lone mansion situated at the northern edge of town.

Like several other buildings in Raven Rock, including the Retching Netch, it looked like some kind of insect carapace resting on top of an ash-covered hill. Wooden pilings fortified one side of the hill – the side closest to town – to keep the sand and ash from spilling back down and burying Milore's shop from behind. Flagged stones made up a walkway to the front door, set in the face of the curved, sectioned walls of the building. There were no windows, and no other entrances.

Marcus was half-way tempted to just knock on the door and wait for someone to answer, but what could he have said that would have given him access to the interior? And indeed, if he had gotten inside, what excuses could he give that would have allowed him search for evidence? He didn't even know what he was looking for! Angry with Adril Arano again for not doing this himself, Marcus crouched in the shadows of the doorway until the Redoran patrol walked past and disappeared into the night before unlocking the door as quietly as he could and pushing it open just wide enough to slip inside.

"You never should have come here!"

 _Uh oh!_

An Ice Spike caught Marcus in his midsection, and he grunted against the stabbing cold. Searching the gloom inside, he saw the silhouettes of Tilisu and her daughter, Mirri, poised and waiting, weapons drawn and magic in hand. They stood to one side of the central stairs that led to the lower level. An abstract part of his brain registered that they didn't really look very much alike, for being mother and daughter.

Mirri rushed him, and he quickly _Fus'd_ her to give himself time to draw his own blade.

"Ladies, we don't have to do this!" he cajoled, making one attempt to reason with them. But he sincerely doubted it would have any effect. They had been waiting for him – for _someone_ – to come tonight to confront them. It was as clear an admission of guilt as he was likely to get. Tilisu had to have suspected him from the moment he startled her in the Tomb. Why else would an Imperial be waiting there, lurking in the shadows? Certainly not to make an offering of ash yams to the Daedra for the soul of a dead Dunmer.

"You will never leave here alive!" Mirri screamed as she rushed him again, and Marcus found himself fighting for his life against two Dunmer women determined to end it. He was at a distinct disadvantage, and he knew it: he was fighting two unarmored women, and while he had been in Skyrim long enough to know the women fought as well or better than the men, he had been born and raised in a world that had taught him to respect the feminine gender, and to protect rather than hurt them.

All that went out the non-existent windows when Mirri drew first blood. It burned like fire, and he knew then her blade was poisoned. From the tail of his eye he could see Tilisu working her way around the stairs, passing in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room, in an attempt to flank him. He couldn't give her that chance.

With a swift gesture, Marcus summoned forth a ghostly wolf and sent it after her. He hadn't called upon a familiar to fight for him in battle in a long time. In point of fact, he'd almost forgotten he knew the spell until Azura had put him through his paces when he first arrived in Raven Rock.

Wolfie didn't last long against Tilisu and she was coming around the stairs once more. Marcus was alternately blocking Mirri's deadly blade with his own, or throwing flames in her face to make her back up and give him room to maneuver in the tight confines of the first floor room.

" _FEIM!"_ he Shouted, and slipped past Mirri, who slashed ineffectually at him. He leaped over the low wall to the stairs below and headed into the interior of the house, with Tilisu and Mirri screeching in rage above his head.

Below stairs, it was more open, and Marcus felt himself already solidifying as the women came down the stairs towards him. He caught both of them with a couple of well-placed lightning bolts to buy himself time while the tightness in his throat eased until he could Shout again.

Tilisu sent a blast of ice storm his way, but he saw it coming and ducked around the corner into what appeared to be a smithy. The temperature plummeted, but at least he had avoided the brunt of it. The slash where Mirri had caught him was still burning, and he was feeling slightly sick, but he couldn't think about that now. They were coming down the stairs, and he had a feeling they weren't going to hold back on the magic.

Right on cue, Mirri swung out wide from the corner to give her mother a chance to cast another ice storm, but Marcus was ready and put up his ward, which buckled under the onslaught, but held long enough to take the brunt of the blast. He launched another lightning bolt at Tilisu and feinted at Mirri, grinning ferally as she fell for the feint and he sliced her arm open from shoulder to elbow. She screamed, but merely flipped her weapon to her other hand and came at him again.

 _Crap. She's ambidextrous?_

Tilisu launched another Icy Spear which caught Marcus in the side, and he felt the area instantly go numb. It would be several minutes before he'd be able to get the feeling back into it, and that was several minutes he didn't have, judging from the intensity with which both mother and daughter were fighting. He wished, not for the first time, that he still had Alduin's Bane to use with his preferred dual-weapon style. Magic was all very well and good, but he wasn't as good at it as his opponent, and he wasn't doing enough damage with it.

 _Wait! I have another sword!_ He'd never used it since Tamsyn had taught him the spell, but there was no time like the present.

Still blocking Mirri's attacks with his right hand, and dodging Tilisu's Ice Spikes around the forge, Marcus concentrated as best he could and gestured with his left. At first, he was afraid it hadn't worked, that he didn't have enough magicka to bring it into existence, but suddenly the flaming, ethereal blue sword erupted into his hand and he gave a satisfied grin. _This_ was his kind of magic!

Dismay creased Mirri's face as she realized she now had to guard against a flurry of attacks. With her one arm hanging limp and useless at her side, she was doubly-pressed to keep Marcus from doing her any further injury. She fell back, attempting to draw Marcus in, but he wasn't that gullible.

" _ZUN HAAL VIIK!"_ Marcus Shouted, as Tilisu moved forward, drawing her own sword. Both hers and Mirri's sword went flying across the chamber, clattering on the floor somewhere out in the hall.

"Surrender now," Marcus told them, lowering his blade.

"Never!" Tilisu spat with venom. She launched another Icy Spear which caught Marcus full in the face.

It was like the worst ice-cream headache he'd ever had in his lives. Groaning, he stumbled back, seeing prismed images of the two Dunmer women advancing upon his position. Their faces were twisted with rage and hate, and cruel amusement at his predicament.

Mirri drew a dagger from her belt, and Tilisu cupped her hands to deliver a dual-cast _something_ at him, but he didn't wait to find out what. He tumbled across the forge, hoping the heat would melt the Icy Spear enough so he could see clearly, and lashed out half-blinded with both conjured blade and Akaviri where he knew the two women had been standing.

A shriek met his ears and he felt resistance as Dragonbane cut through something – or someone – but he didn't stop to find out what. Still tumbling, he heard the whistle of air where his head had been seconds before as he rushed past the women and made it to the hall. The heat of the forge helped, and his vision cleared a bit, though he still had the headache. He saw Tilisu crumpled on the ground, clutching her stomach as blood pooled around her, attempting to keep her intestines from spilling out onto the floor.

Mirri was coming up fast and Marcus had had enough. It was still too soon to Shout again so he did the next best thing; he cast a lightning bolt straight to her face and watched her writhe in agony as her muscles seized up. He finished her off before she could suffer further. Approaching Tilisu cautiously, he waited. She didn't look at him.

"Kill me now," she said in a dull voice. "I will tell you nothing!"

"I think I'll call in the Redoran Guard instead," he replied calmly, having no stomach to kill anyone, especially a woman, in cold blood – even if she had been trying to kill him just moments before.

"Then I will have to do it myself," Tilisu said, and pulled a small vial from her pocket. Before he could stop her, she brought it swiftly to her mouth, grabbing the cork with her teeth and spitting it out before gulping the contents.

"Curse you, and curse Lleril Morvayn!" she gurgled as she died, her face contorted in a rictus of pain.

Marcus sheathed his blade. He stood for a long moment and stared at the two bodies, half-way tempted himself to curse both Councilor Morvayn and Second Councilor Arano for putting him through this. In death, the two women looked even less like mother and daughter than they had in life. He sighed, pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. The deaths of the two women wouldn't stop whatever plot was unfolding. He had not finished what he came here to do. Turning his back on the deceased, he began to systematically search the rest of the house.

The layout underground was fairly simple: the smithy was the first chamber to the right at the bottom of the stairs. Just past this was another chamber set up with an arcane enchanter. Several weapon plaques hung on the walls, but they were empty. On the floor against the walls of the room, however, were several baskets filled with empty soul gems. By now, Marcus was familiar enough with them to be able to tell if they were filled or not.

On the left side of the hall were two other chambers. The first one had a door, and proved to be a spare bedroom. This must have been Mirri's. The one next to that was another open chamber set up as an alchemy lab, and the barrels and shelves around the room were filled with alchemical ingredients.

The main chamber at the end of the hall appeared to be the master bedroom. Upon first entering, Marcus was startled by several figures standing near the door, until he realized in the dimness that they were actually armor mannequins, such as he had in his homes back in Skyrim. Weapon racks, plaques and display cases were also scattered around the room, but except for some unremarkable steel weaponry, a few gems and a handful of humanoid skulls, the cases were empty. The bookcase along the right side of the room was empty, as were the three unlocked chests he found. The bed seemed nothing more than a large plank of wood with a scattering of animal pelts on top, similar to the so-called "bed" he rented at the Netch. It didn't look any more comfortable, either.

The safe in the far left corner of the room, however, looked more promising, and he found it locked up as tight as a tick. Several attempts to get it open with the few picks he had in his beltpouch only resulted in a pile of broken picks on the floor and a frustrated, irritated Dragonborn. He blew out a breath, thinking hard. On a whim, he went back to the bodies of the two women, and was moderately pleased to find a key on Mirri's body that opened the safe.

Inside, tucked under several pouches of gold, gems and jewelry, was a letter, carefully folded up and sealed with wax. Marcus broke the seal and opened the letter. It was dated only two days previous.

" _Dear Councilor Saldin,"_ Marcus read. _"In a matter of days I believe we'll be ready. Our forces hidden within Ashfallow Citadel have been training night and day, ready to strike when we give the signal. With Captain Veleth distracted by the ash spawn attacks, the timing seems perfect. I've waited nearly a decade to exact my revenge upon Lleril Morvayn for the death of my ancestor and I long for the moment my blade will be drawn across his throat. The next letter you'll receive from me will include his head in a sack. Display it proudly in the halls of House Hlaalu, brother."_

It was signed, 'Vendil Ulen.'

"Ulen?" Marcus muttered aloud, his voice sounding hollow in the empty room. "Vendil _Ulen,_ not Severin. Interesting…" He quickly folded up the letter and placed it in his belt pouch, taking nothing else from the safe. This needed to get to Second Councilor Arano right away.

He left Severin Manor, carefully locking the door behind him, and headed for Morvayn Manor. It was late, but he somehow had the feeling Adril Arano would still be awake.

He wasn't wrong.

"And you say you found this letter in the safe?" Arano asked him, after listening to Marcus' account of what had happened.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded. "It looks like the Severins weren't who they pretended to be."

"Then we finally have them!" Arano exulted. "All that remains now is chasing them down, and bringing them to justice!"

"I'm guessing they're not just going to come along quietly," Marcus said ruefully, remembering the Icy Spear he'd taken to the face. His head still ached.

"I'll have Captain Veleth send two of our best Redoran Guard to Ashfallow Citadel to deal with them," Arano replied, jotting a few lines down on parchment and handing it to one of the guards standing near the door. He murmured some quiet words of urgency and the guard left with the note. Arano turned back to Marcus. "I want you to assist them in any way you can."

"What, me?" Marcus blinked. He was almighty tired now, and still had to head back to Tel Mithryn to meet up with Azura. Time was ticking away while his beloved Tamsyn languished in Apocrypha. "You have an entire Bulwark of Redoran Guard you can spare. It's not that I wouldn't like to, but—"

"I know I've already imposed on you, Marcus," Arano cajoled, "but after all, you _are_ the Dragonborn, as Councilor Morvayn has enlightened me. Isn't this sort of thing right in your bailiwick?"

"Ordinarily, but—"

"And I can't think of anyone else I would trust to help save Lleril Morvayn's life. Raven Rock _needs_ him here as ruler."

Sensing he wasn't going to get out of this, Marcus caved.

"Fine," he sighed. "Just show me where I need to go." He pulled his map out of his backpack.

* * *

As much as Marcus prided himself on his inherent sense of direction, he still found himself turned around once he'd gotten past the old Attius Farm where he and Azura had first met Captain Veleth. It didn't help that the wind had kicked up an ash storm, obscuring the sky and preventing him from seeing the stars clearly. He turned left instead of right and found himself at a somewhat familiar sight: the circular ridged mound of a Nordic burial tomb. In Skyrim, those mounds had also indicated a dragon mound, but this was the first one he'd seen in Solstheim, so he had no idea if the ancient Dragon Priests had buried dead dragons in this manner after the Dragon Wars.

This mound, however, had been partially excavated, and it appeared the archeologist was still here.

"Who's there!" a wiry Dunmer demanded, dagger at the ready.

"Hold on," Marcus soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just a little lost. I'm trying to get to Ashfallow Citadel."

Still wary, the Dunmer sniffed. "Ashfallow Citadel? That place was picked over a century ago. Why would you want to go there?"

"Well, not to be rude or anything," Marcus drawled, "but that's my business. Can you point me in the right direction? This ash storm has me turned around. I'm not even sure where I am."

"You'd better sit down until it passes, then, friend," the little mer said, sheathing his blade. He gestured toward his camp, set to one side of the barrow. A tent had been pitched there, and a small campfire was guttering in the pit he'd dug to protect it from the wind. Nearby a log table had been set up, with bits of broken crockery and metal findings scattered across it. "I'm Ralis Sedarys, by the way," he added, by way of introduction. "I'm from Mournhold. I've got a financier waiting for me back on the mainland. Sent me here in the interests of obtaining some rare antiquities. The 'Relics of Ahzidal,' he called them. But this whole thing became a disaster right quick, let me tell you."

"Oh?" Marcus queried, lifting an eyebrow. He settled himself onto the rug Ralis indicated and cast a healing spell on his lungs. He'd been feeling short of breath since the storm began. Here they were still out in the open, but the surrounding rocks and hills afforded them a small measure of protection from the brunt of the wind's fury. "What happened?" he asked Ralis now.

Ralis gave a mirthless snort. "You know, you come out to the northern ashlands, you don't expect things to go easy, you know? But this was something outside my particular expertise. When I first got to Kolbjorn – that's this ruin, by the way – you couldn't even see it. Buried in the ash, like most other things on this blasted island. Dug out a pile of the stuff taller than me just to find the barrow. Who knows how much to reach the door. Excavating isn't exactly my specialty. Even if it was, the ash storms, like this one now, fill it in faster than you can dig."

"Sounds like you could use some help," Marcus sympathized. "I know there are a whole bunch of workers in Raven Rock that used to labor in the mine. Why not hire some of them?"

Ralis gave him a dour look. "You think I've got that kind of money?" He snorted derisively again. "No, I get paid on delivery. Can't afford to go out of pocket for a thousand septims on this. Takes money to hire money, and all that rot. There's a lot of it at the other end, but I can't get there without a little kick to start it off."

"What exactly is it that you're looking for in this…Kolbjorn Barrow?" Marcus asked.

Ralis considered him for several heartbeats, as if deciding just how much he should confide in a complete stranger. Marcus gave him a winning smile. Ralis didn't return it, but a calculating look came into his eyes.

"You ever hear of Ahzidal?" he asked. Marcus shook his head. "He was the first great Nord enchanter. Maybe even the first human to master elven methods."

"Really?" Marcus mused. "I wonder if my wife knew that. She's a mage," he added to Ralis' lifted eyebrow.

"Ah," was all the Dunmer said to that. "Anyway, Ahzidal's best work was buried with him, so it's said. It was a set that my patron calls 'the Relics,' and they're supposed to be buried down in his tomb. Now, they're old, and they're powerful. A combination like that makes them pretty valuable to certain people, and I happen to know certain people."

Several things had been kicking around in Marcus' mind while Ralis had been talking. First, he was reminded of Enthir, Brynjolf and Dante Greyshadow. Each of them were rogues and rascals in their own right. Ralis would have fit very well in their company. Secondly, where there were Nordic barrows, there was often a Word Wall of some kind. Marcus couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn a new Word. It might even be one that could help him against Miraak. Since he couldn't take the time to dig out the barrow on his own, and Ralis was already motivated to find his artifacts, why not offer to fund the excavation and hurry the progress along?

"You know," he said now, conversationally, "I might be interested in investing in your little venture here, for a share of the spoils, of course." He really wasn't interested in the artifacts Ralis was looking for. Gold, gems or magical items he could sell for a profit to offset the expense of the expedition were more than compensation for finding another _rotmulag._ But if he didn't ask for a share of the profits, Ralis might take him for a fool – and Marcus was nobody's fool.

"Really?" Ralis drawled, not really believing him. "I don't suppose you have a thousand gold, just sitting around, do you? Because that's what it's going to take—" His voice broke off as a hefty pouch clinked into the dust at his feet, kicking up a pile of ash. He scooped it up quickly and opened it, assessing its contents with a practiced eye. "Hmm…it's all here. Well, then – _Partner_ – looks like I have a good bit of work to start on. I'll head back to Raven Rock in the morning and round up some diggers. Once we've got something worth looking at, I'll send word to you. Feel free to stay here tonight," he offered. "The wind will probably blow itself out by morning. It usually does."

"No thanks," Marcus declined. "I need to keep moving. Which direction is Ashfallow Citadel?"

"That way," Ralis said, gesturing with the hand holding the coin pouch. "Then I'll just say it's a pleasure doing business with you, Partner. I'll see you soon."

Marcus bid the little Dunmer farewell and headed off in the direction Ralis had pointed.

The ash storm indeed blew itself out before morning, but Marcus felt weary, gritty and thoroughly disgruntled. Ash hoppers were annoying, ash spawn were too persistent, and he somehow stumbled into another spriggan grove he didn't know was there. Not only did the Matron take a dim view of this, but so did all the wildlife in the area, including a cave bear that should have been easy enough to fight, but not while he was fending off fireballs from the spriggan matron. Even a normally harmless fox advanced on him, darting in and out between his feet, attempting to trip him up. He hated having to kill it, but it wouldn't go away.

On top of all of this, he was attacked by not one, but two dragons. They were lesser-types – privately he thought of them as juveniles – but they refused to back down, and he was forced to kill them both, relieved when Miraak didn't show up to take their souls. It seemed the First Dragonborn was only interested in stealing the souls of the more powerful dragons. Marcus immediately unlocked _mul_ and _qah_ – "strength" and "armor" – and knew them to belong to the same Shout, Dragon Aspect.

The sun was already in the sky when he was only halfway to Ashfallow, and Azura contacted him again through his earring stud.

" _Marcus! Where are you? I thought you were coming back to Tel Mithryn this morning?"_

Marcus sat down on an ash-covered log to catch his breath and concentrate on the call.

"Ah, yeah," he said breathlessly. "Change of plans. It turns out there is an assassination plot against Councilor Morvayn, and I'm on my way to Ashfallow Citadel to stop them before they can launch their attack."

There was silence for a long moment; so long, in fact, Marcus thought he'd lost contact with Azura and tapped the ear bud. "Are you there?" he asked.

" _What have you gotten yourself into?"_ Azura sighed. It was so much the sort of thing Tamsyn would have said that Marcus burst out laughing. _"I don't think this is funny, Marcus!"_ she scolded, making him laugh harder. He struggled to get himself under control.

"No, it isn't," he agreed, still chuckling. "But you have to understand that this sort of thing happens to me all the time."

" _I knew traveling with you would be interesting,"_ Azura replied, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice as well. _"Where are you now?"_

"About halfway to Ashfallow from Kolbjorn Barrow," he replied.

" _Kolbjorn?"_ There was silence again, as if Azura was frantically trying to figure out where Kolbjorn was.

"Long story," Marcus told her. "I won't go into it now. I should get to Ashfallow in about three more hours at the rate I'm going."

" _I know where Ashfallow is,"_ Azura said. _"It will take me about the same amount of time to get there from here. I'll meet you."_

"What about Neloth?" Marcus asked. "Did he come back?"

" _He's back,"_ Azura replied. _"He's got information, but it can wait. You can't go into a den full of assassins with no one at your back. Wait for me!"_

She ended the connection without giving him a chance to protest. Shaking his head, Marcus got up and continued on his way to Ashfallow, knowing she was right, and knowing he would, indeed wait for her.

What remained of Ashfallow Citadel was a broken-down, ash-choked tumble of a motte and bailey with drifts of sand and cinders practically filling the inner courtyard to the level of the walls which once surrounded the central stone tower. Indeed, the western section had completely collapsed under the crushing weight of volcanic ash, and the top of the tower was buried under a similar geologic crown. Through the southern archway, which no longer boasted a defensive gate, a pathway could be seen leading directly to the tower, and the only way into the interior, a weather-beaten iron-clad wooden door.

"Not much about the place to recommend it, is there?" Marcus murmured to Azura. She had been waiting for him as promised several yards south of the Citadel, having reached the place before him. He might have made it there first, but another lesser dragon had attacked him along the way and he had had to dispatch it first. He had waited tensely after it died until the soul had settled in him, and only then had he breathed a sigh of relief that Miraak hadn't come and stolen it from him.

He still had one Word he could unlock – _ven,_ which meant "wind" – but knowing there were still two parts of the Bend Will Shout he didn't know, and one more Word to Dragon Aspect, Marcus decided to hang onto the one spare soul he had just gained.

"Like most of the southern part of Solstheim," Azura put in quietly, "Ashfallow Citadel took a brutalizing from the explosion of the Red Mountain."

"We passed by this place on our way to the Beast Stone," Marcus observed. "I remember now, seeing it from the other side."

"Where are the Redoran Guard?" Azura asked, peering through the haze. "I thought you said Councilor Arano sent some here. They must have gotten here by now."

Marcus looked again, but couldn't see many details from the distance they were situated. "I don't know," he said, concerned. He sent out his Aura Whisper and noted two figures closer to the top of the stairs that led up to the entrance, but the red blobs didn't tell him if they were friend or foe.

"See anything?" Azura asked.

"Two," Marcus answered, "but if they were Redoran Guard, I would have thought they'd have gone inside by now to rout out the rest of the assassins."

"Unless they're waiting for you," she pointed out.

Marcus shrugged. That was possible, but something still didn't feel quite right.

"We'd better get closer," he said finally, keeping to a crouch as he worked his way down the slope to the stairs that led up to the Citadel.

He found the body of the first Redoran Guard at the foot of the stairs and grimly turned it over for Azura to see. She put her hand to her mouth in dismay, at the precise butchering the mer had suffered. Near the first landing, they found the second, and Marcus' heart dropped in his chest when he saw the Dunmer's face.

Turon Areth's blank eyes stared into infinity.

"Oh, no!" Azura whispered, choking back a sob.

The assassins were on them without warning, and suddenly Marcus and Azura found themselves fighting for their lives. The Bosmer mage seemed to know what they were immediately.

"Be careful, Marcus!" she called out. "These are Morag Tong assassins. They're deadly!"

Marcus had dealt with assassins before. In the days before he had taken out the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Falkreath, and before Cicero had become his own sworn Dark Brother, he had been attacked by a handful of Astrid's lackeys. In addition to these, he had dealt with Thalmor Justiciars and more recently, some of Miraak's fanatical followers. He was no stranger to professional murderers.

As he fought his opponent now, he studied him. Their armor was similar to the chitin-type armor Marcus had seen on some reavers, but rather than just bits and pieces, they were clad head to foot in the tough, resilient, insectoid armor. Goggles had been set into the helmet above a cloth filter-like mask to protect them from blowing ash and sand. They wielded keened swords of elven design with fatal precision, and Marcus was hard-pressed to keep that deadly weapon from finding the weak points on his dragonbone armor.

The two assassins spoke not a word, concentrating solely on taking out the two trespassers. Azura lobbed off one ice spell after another, while using Grave to keep her opponent at bay. Marcus brought his conjured sword into being once more and used his Marked for Death Shout to soften up both assassins. When the tightness in his throat eased, he used Disarm, but his opponent was too strong, and never lost his grip on his weapon.

Azura managed to hit the one she'd been fighting with her paralysis spell and – unable to resist – he went down for several seconds. It was long enough for her to finish him off. She couldn't get a clear shot at the other, however, as he kept using his knowledge of the layout of the Citadel to his advantage with respect to finding cover, or keeping the high ground, or keeping Marcus between himself and Azura.

Inwardly, Marcus was raging. Turon was dead, killed by this sonofabitch, or one of his allies. If he hadn't gotten lost, if he hadn't wandered into that spriggan grove, if the dragons hadn't attacked, he could have been here sooner. He might have been able to save Turon. If…if…if…

He knew losing his temper in battle was the worst possible thing he could do. He'd learned that early on, in his first months in Skyrim. Now, he channeled that fury into his attack routine, making his strikes more deadly, his _thu'um_ more precise, and the few spells he cast more powerful. Though he couldn't see the mer's face behind the mask, he sensed the assassin was having doubts about his ability to take down the enraged Imperial facing him, and Marcus smiled grimly. Good. Part of him – his dragon part – wanted to prolong the assassin's agony, make him feel what Turon must have felt before he died. He wanted this assailant to know what fear felt like as his life-force was slowly but surely snuffed from him.

But the greater part of Marcus – the man he was and had always been, the good man he always tried to be – just wanted to end this as quickly as possible so that he could get back to the more important issue of finding his wife. He saw an opening and took it, cutting through the assassin's defenses and ending his life far more swiftly than the murderer had done for Turon or his companion.

Numbly, Marcus sheathed his blades without thinking about the conjured one. It winked out as he lowered his hands. He retreated down the steps to where Azura knelt next to Turon's body. Tears were tracing their way down her cheeks, leaving rivulets of pale skin where her green face paint had been.

"I…I can't believe he's gone," she whispered brokenly. "What do we do? Leave him here?"

"For now we'll have to," Marcus insisted. "We have to take out the rest of them. We don't leave any of them alive, understand?" _I will avenge you, Turon Areth,_ he vowed silently. _I will make them pay for this._

Azura nodded, and murmured a prayer to her namesake for the souls of the two departed Redoran Guard before rising to follow Marcus.

They had to push hard against the door of the tower to get it open. Ash and sand had drifted against it from inside, and it became immediately apparent that part of the ceiling overhead had collapsed at the far northern end of the tower. Marcus was quietly grateful that no ash spawn erupted from the banks of debris.

There was a room to their left which was mostly filled with ash. A bookshelf next to the entrance held another of those East Empire strongboxes, and Marcus took a few moments to jimmy the lock open and claim its contents, which included another pendant. He gave that one to Azura. A curving staircase led down, and they dropped to a crouch to head below stairs. Marcus kept Dragonbane in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other. Aura Whisper revealed one Morag Tong in a room at the bottom of the stairs, whom Marcus and Azura had no trouble taking out quickly and quietly, having acquired the element of surprise.

From there they found a tunnel hewn out of the rock which opened into a properly-constructed underground hallway. The tunnel must have been some kind of work-around to get to this section when the main part of the tower collapsed. Marcus used his Aura Whisper again to pinpoint the warm bodies they needed to be aware of. One of them was quite close, and Azura hit the woman with a paralyze spell, knocking her down and finishing her off without so much as a squeak. Marcus nodded in approval.

Ahead the corridor was blocked by a set of iron spikes. Somewhere nearby there would be a switch or lever that would lower them, but they would need to find it. Aura Whisper showed Marcus two assassins on their side of the spikes and three more just beyond it. Any altercation might bring all five down on them at once, and those were odds Marcus didn't like. There was an open door to their right, and just past a pillar on the left was another door, where Marcus had spotted the glowing life-forms of two of the five Morag Tong.

He motioned quietly to Azura to follow him into the room on the right-hand side, and they quickly slipped in before anyone noticed. This room appeared to be some sort of barracks, and the shelves around the room contained books, minor potions, extra armor and bits of food left behind from someone's last meal. At the back of the room Marcus found a safe and managed to get it open. It contained a fair amount of gold, gems and jewelry, which he motioned Azura to take and hold on to. A couple pieces of jewelry radiated magic, but he couldn't take the time at the moment to sit down and try to figure out what they were good for. Besides, he doubted they would be stronger than anything Tamsyn could make for him.

They headed back to the corridor, with Marcus making a mental note to look at the books before they left. Some dragons hoarded gold. He hoarded books. _I'm a bookwyrm,_ he thought with some irony.

Peering out into the corridor, Marcus could see the assassin who had been hidden behind the pillar before. Beyond the iron spikes blocking the corridor, he could see at least three more of the Morag Tong waiting along the walls. It wouldn't take much to stir them all up like an angry hornet's nest. They needed stealth.

Azura tugged gently at his arm and he withdrew back into the room to face her.

"I could paralyze him," she suggested in a breathy whisper.

"No," Marcus murmured, shaking his head. "Too much risk one of the others would notice when we come up there to finish him off. We need to drop him in one."

"I could get him with an Icy Spear."

"That's good, but it might not be good enough," Marcus replied. "These guys are _tough_."

"How are your archery skills?" she asked. In point of fact, she already knew Marcus was pretty darn good with his bow. She'd seen him using it on distant targets and dragons.

"It may be the best option," he admitted, though he hated the possibility that it might not be good enough to drop the assassin in one shot. He shrugged his dragonbone bow off his back and nocked an arrow. This was actually the second dragonbone bow he'd owned. The first was one he'd managed to retrieve from one of the Keepers in the Soul Cairn before it had dissolved into a puddle of goo after he killed it. This one had been a gift from Blaise on his last birthday, a test of how far he'd come as a Smith in so short a time. Marcus had given his other bow to Alesan.

Crouching, and edging out into the corridor just a little further, Marcus let fly with his arrow, watching in satisfaction as it sank up to its fletching in the Morag Tong's throat. He slumped without so much as a gurgle. Marcus held his breath and waited, but the other assassins didn't appear to notice. He gestured to Azura.

"Come on," he whispered. "There's one in the room across the corridor."

Azura fired off a quick Muffle spell, and Marcus noted obliquely that she appeared to know the same trick Tamsyn did about casting spells quietly, so that no one could hear it go off. That was good, because by his own admission, Marcus knew he didn't sneak very well.

The assassin at the alchemy lab in this room never heard Marcus come up behind her to slit her throat. She slumped heavily over the arcane enchanter next to the lab while Azura found a chain to pull that would lower the iron spikes and allow them to pass. They didn't get far, however. The corridor rose slightly and was blocked not much further along by interlocking sets of iron spikes. Marcus gave an inward sigh of frustration. Against the right-hand wall another Morag Tong assassin lounged, ostensibly keeping watch, but in reality he was partially dozing.

His cry was cut short as Marcus put his gauntleted hand over the mer's mouth and shoved the Akaviri blade between his ribs. Noise from the far end of the corridor reached them.

"What was that?"

"Did you hear something?"

Azura tugged on Marcus' arm and together they dragged the dead man back to the enchanting room and waited there, scarcely daring to breathe. Footsteps came closer, but no further than the iron bar barricade.

"I was sure I heard something," a woman's voice said.

"You're imagining things," a man scoffed. "There's nothing there now."

"Maybe we should go look—"

"We still have too much to do," he overrode her. "Tilisu and Mirri will be here shortly with their report and then the final phase of our plan will begin. We must be ready."

The woman's voice faded as the footsteps retreated. "If you say so, Vendil…"

"Vendil?" Azura breathed. "Vendil Severin? He's involved in this plot?"

"He's really Vendil Ulen, I've learned," Marcus whispered. "At least, that's how he signed the note I found in their safe."

Azura gave him a long, searching look. "You're going to tell me everything when this is over, okay?"

Marcus gave a low chuckle. "You know, I've said the same thing to my wife, many times."

His companion gave him another look, as if making sure she wasn't being teased, then pulled on the chain near the door. They heard the hiss of finely oiled iron bars retreating into the walls and floor beyond the confines of the enchanting room.

Peering around the door, Marcus could see that the barricade had indeed come down, but another set blocked progress down the corridor a dozen feet further on.

"Not paranoid, are they?" Azura muttered.

"I think there might be a way around it over there," Marcus said in a low voice, pointing across the hall where a short corridor led off to the side. "Wait here. I'll see what I can find."

"You've got one minute, and then I'm following," Azura warned him, and he nodded.

The side corridor actually turned out to be a small room with pillars and barrels set up to obstruct progress to the pull chain on the far wall. The floor was littered with old-fashioned bear traps that Marcus had no intention of setting off if he could help it. The hair-trigger sensitivity of the traps would cause them to snap shut with a resounding _clang_ with the slightest jostling. For a full minute, Marcus picked his way through, rather like playing _Twister_ in his old life. Just as he reached the wall with the chain, Azura appeared in the doorway.

"What's keeping—oh!" she gasped as she pinwheeled to keep from stepping on the first trap.

"Careful!" Marcus hissed. "They'll hear it if we set just one of these off!"

"I heard more voices up ahead," she told him quietly as he pulled the chain. "There's another room off to the left, just beyond the bars, but before the room at the end. I think there are more Morag Tong in there."

"It doesn't matter," Marcus said grimly. "They all die."

"For Turon," she agreed. "And for Councilor Morvayn."

Marcus gave a short nod. It felt different this time. When he had destroyed the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Falkreath, years ago, he had thought he'd done a good thing. But after meeting Cicero, he had begun to wonder if it had been such a smart idea after all. It had been pointed out to him that assassins very often do the jobs that politicians cannot and should not do. Not that he was a politician. He was a trouble-shooter. It was what he had always been, and it was something he knew how to do. That it translated to this life as well was simply a bonus.

He felt no such conflict now. The Morag Tong was an unknown faction over which he had no control or influence. Even Cicero hated them with a passion that was almost holy. It was in the Empire's best interests to keep Councilor Morvayn in charge on Solstheim. If that meant wiping out the representatives of the Morag Tong here, then so be it.

But it needed to be done quietly. The Tong were formidable fighters, as they had found out already. Handling them in twos and threes were challenging enough, and the closer they came to the end of the hall where their leader laired, the more problematic it would become. If Vendil Ulen had half a brain, he'd gather the rest of his forces and investigate what was making so much racket the moment they engaged whomever was in the next room.

It turned out to be some sort of fighting arena, like a boxing ring, and there were two Morag Tong assassins sparring in the center. They stopped and separated when Marcus and Azura entered.

"You never should have come here!" one of them exclaimed. Marcus cringed at the volume with which he spoke, certain they couldn't have failed to hear that in the next room. He turned and shot a Muffle spell at the doorway, hoping it would work the way he hoped it would. When Tamsyn used it, it was more of a personal spell, making her more silent. Now, he only hoped it would buy them time while they dealt with the immediate threat.

Azura said nothing, but shot one with a paralysis spell that he shrugged off, drawing a wicked-looking Daedric blade.

"Eep!" Azura yelped, limning herself with her Ironflesh spell before drawing Sting and Grave.

Marcus drew Dragonbane and launched an Ice Spike into the midsection of the other assassin, but the woman leaped and twisted, avoiding the attack completely. Her tumble took her closer to Marcus, and she leaped again, avoiding the slash of his blade to come up behind him and strike targeted areas with her hands: his elbow, the unprotected armpit, the back of his knees.

Numbness spread through him as he realized she had effectively launched a martial attack against an armed enemy. Dragonbane dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he buckled to his knees. Stunned, he barely avoided the roundhouse kick she aimed at his head. In the five years since he had come to Skyrim, he had never fought an opponent who used unarmed combat the way he did with his tae kwon do. The part of him that he had always thought of as his dragon soul sat up and took notice. So it was to be a challenge, then? Good.

He rolled to one side to avoid her next strike and did a kip up to get back on his feet, albeit unsteadily, as his knees still felt like rubber bands. With no weapon in hand – Dragonbane lay on the straw-covered floor a few feet away – Marcus launched his own series of punches and kicks designed to knock his opponent down. The Dunmer woman parried his attacks with strikes of her own, and in the dim light from the torches, Marcus could see her grinning. Against his will, he felt a smile curve his own lips. This would be a fight to remember!

Azura heard Marcus cast the Muffle spell at the door, but didn't think it would work the way he planned. The best way to avoid reinforcements coming through the door would be to barricade it, but there was no time for that. Her opponent was fiercely insistent on separating her head from her shoulders, and Azura wanted very much to keep it where it was. Sting and Grave were busy blocking the Dunmer's attacks, which were rapid and furious, for all that he only had the one weapon to her two. Casting a spell at this point would have put her at a distinct disadvantage, and she almost wished she had taken on the woman instead of the man. She didn't know what Marcus was doing over there, but she wasn't hearing metal on metal, and couldn't take the time to look.

The Dunmer Tong swept his blade in front of him, aimed at her midsection, and Azura blocked it with Grave, striking in with Sting, but somehow, he turned his saw-toothed blade with a flick of his wrist and Grave went spinning from her hand.

"Ahh!" she yelped, barely bringing Sting up in time to stop the counterstrike aimed at her head.

"You'll never leave here alive," the assassin jeered at her.

"That's what _you_ think!" Azura countered, streaming flames from her hand right at his face.

Unprepared, he snarled and backpedaled to get out of range. Azura saw her sword lying just out of reach. To go after it would put her in a vulnerable position, so she did the next best thing: she shot an Icy Spear at the Tong's knee and watched him buckle. Whirling, she allowed her momentum to follow through with Sting and watched as his head landed in the corner, the mouth still working and the eyes registering surprise before they dulled forever.

Turning, she gazed in wonder as Marcus and the female assassin sparred in hand-to-hand non-weapon combat. For all his size and strength, the Dragonborn was evenly matched with the Tong facing him. She blocked his strikes and kicks and lashed out with her own, which were blocked by him in return. He had his back to her, and she was tempted to throw a few spells at the woman, to end the combat so they could move on, but something stayed her hands. She had been traveling with Marcus for several days, now, and the one thing she knew about him was his integrity. He dealt with people honestly and fairly and fought with honor. If she interfered now, he wouldn't thank her for it.

So she edged around the wall toward the door, knowing he would be able to see her and know her fight had ended successfully for her.

The female assassin noticed her as well.

"So you took out Ramidj, did you?" she threw at Azura. "That was no small feat. He was good."

"I was better," Azura shrugged.

"And you, stranger," the Tong said, addressing Marcus, "I underestimated you. You're very good. No one here has stood against me in unarmed combat."

"If it comes to that," Marcus said evenly, "I find you an equally worthy opponent."

"I think you might even be a little better than me," the woman said, still circling warily. "I'm sensing you're holding back."

"Maybe," Marcus shrugged. It wouldn't do to put all his cards on the table just yet.

"It's too bad I have to kill you," she said. "I think I'm starting to like you."

"You don't have to kill me," Marcus replied. "You can walk away from all this right now and give up Vendil's scheme."

"Now, you see," she sighed, "there's the problem. I can't walk away. Vendil would send others to hunt me down."

"You're assuming he's coming out of this alive," Marcus said drily, and the woman chuckled before realizing Marcus wasn't joking.

"You're completely serious," she stated.

"As a heart attack."

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "Even if you did kill Vendil, the rest of the Tong would send others after me. I would be a traitor, and nowhere would be safe for me."

Marcus stepped back a pace and lowered his stance only slightly.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Blinking and suspicious, the woman tensed. "Why should you care?"

Marcus shrugged. "Because as I said, I find you a worthy opponent, and because I might or might not have a few aces up my sleeve."

Whether she understood the poker reference or not, the Tong shifted uneasily. "Sheriah," she finally answered.

"Well, Sheriah, I don't know if you get much news from Skyrim, but I'm Marcus of Whiterun. I'm also known as the Dragonborn."

Large red eyes widened. Sheriah had indeed heard of the Dragonborn. "Are you going to Shout at me?" she swallowed.

"Not if I don't have to," Marcus replied. "I could have, at any point in our fight, but I didn't."

"Why didn't you?" Sheriah asked suspiciously.

Again, Marcus shrugged. "In all the time I've been in Skyrim, I've never fought anyone in a life and death situation using only martial arts."

Sheriah gave an appreciative nod. "We are taught from a young age in the Tong, but few pursue the art."

"I don't want to kill you now, Sheriah," Marcus said, "but I can't have you at my back."

"We seem to be at an impasse, then," Sheriah remarked. "I can't let you go, or my life is forfeit, and you're unwilling to kill me now – thank you very much for that, by the way – so where does that leave us?"

"What if you found a place to hide where the Tong couldn't reach you?" Marcus asked, inspiration striking him.

Sheriah gave a bitter laugh. "You don't know the Tong. There is no place I could go where they wouldn't find me."

"What about the Dark Brotherhood?"

Sheriah was silent for a long moment. When she did speak, it was slowly, as if considering her words very carefully.

"I'm going to assume you are serious. But even if I did approach them, I would be killed. I am Morag Tong. Our two factions have never cooperated, and there is certainly no crossover between us."

"What exactly is the difference between the two?" Azura asked. "Aren't you both assassins?"

"The Morag Tong has been around longer," Sheriah said, still mistrustful. "The Dark Brotherhood broke away from us centuries ago. They rejected Mephala and embraced Sithis and the Night Mother. They are an unlawful guild."

"Yeah, well, they think you rejected what they embraced," Marcus replied laconically. "And they certainly don't think of themselves as 'unlawful.' _Outside_ the law, perhaps, but not flagrantly disregarding it."

"And just how would you know so much about the Brotherhood?" Sheriah scoffed.

"I'm not going to answer that," Marcus said, "except to say that I'm not one of them. There is one among them I could contact however, on your behalf, if you were interested enough in saving your own skin from retribution for not killing Azura and me."

"That could take weeks," Sheriah said, shaking her head. "Months, even, perhaps. I would be dead before you got a reply."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Marcus smiled. Inwardly he wondered what in Oblivion he was doing. Was he now stooping to recruiting for Cicero's little family? Still, he couldn't deny he liked Sheriah, and respected her skills as a fighter. "Promise me this: wait for us outside the Citadel, and I'll see about getting you an interview with the Keeper of the Brotherhood."

Sheriah threw a glance at Azura. "Is he serious?"

Azura spread her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I've traveled with the man for a couple weeks now," she said truthfully. "I don't think he knows how to lie."

 _Please don't put me to_ that _test,_ Marcus prayed silently.

Sheriah seemed to come to a decision. "I will trust you this far," she said to Marcus. "I will wait outside. If you come out of there alive, I will hold you to your promise. If you don't…"

"You'll have to come up with some excuse to Vendil for why you didn't kill me," he finished, nodding. "I understand."

Azura stepped to one side and allowed the Dunmer woman to leave. "Was that wise?" she asked her companion.

"Ordinarily I'd say no," Marcus admitted. "But I can't explain it. I just had a feeling I shouldn't kill her."

"It's your neck," Azura shrugged. "There's only the room at the end of the hall left. Vendil is sure to be there."

"Let's finish this, then," Marcus said. He found another pull chain in a corner, and they heard the _swish_ of the iron bars as they retracted into the stone.

In the chamber at the end of the corridor, Vendil and his remaining assassins heard it, too.

"No one should be coming in here now," Vendil Severin – or Ulen, as he truly was – called out. "Something's wrong!"

In the corridor beyond, Marcus sent out his Aura Whisper, and quailed inwardly as six figures lit up in the room. It was large, circular, and partially submerged, with wooden planking running around the perimeter of the center well, ending in a ramp that sank into the water. Skeletons were visible in the shallower areas, but the water darkened in the middle where it became deeper.

Pillars of stone were set at intervals around the central well, and braziers lit the chamber with their smoky glow. At the far end of the room, opposite the door, Marcus could see Vendil Ulen, the mastermind behind the plot to assassinate Councilor Morvayn, and his anger burned. The aged Dunmer was wearing the unique chitin armor that all the other assassins here had been wearing, but his seemed at bit more elaborate. He wore no helm.

Quickly unslinging his bow, Marcus fired off a shot directly at Ulen, who dodged to one side as if anticipating an attack. Cursing under his breath, Marcus fired off another arrow at the closest Morag Tong racing towards them and took a moment to appreciate the Dunmer falling to his knees, clawing at the arrow that sprouted from his throat. He dropped to his face and fell into the water, floating there unmoving.

Azura sent a wave of Ice Storm into the room as Marcus hitched the bow back into its sheath and drew Dragonbane. Cries of dismay echoed around the chamber as the bone-chilling frost hit three of the Tong, but Ulen was not among them.

Lightning crackled from Vendil Ulen, catching both Marcus and Azura as they stood just inside the doorway.

"Augh!" Azura cried, while Marcus gritted his teeth. He really hated electrical attacks. His muscles screamed in protest as he brought Dragonbane up just in time to block an attack from his left.

" _MUL QAH!"_ he Shouted. He had held off using this Shout before now, feeling he would need the added protection it might afford him when going up against Vendil Ulen himself. What he didn't anticipate was the image of a dragon overlaying his own form. He had seen it on Miraak, during their first encounter, but the reality of it was only now sinking into him.

 _Cool,_ he grinned to himself before settling into his newly familiar fighting routine of hack and slash paired with shooting off spells with his free hand.

Azura took down two more of the Tong with another wave of Ice Storm, but again, Vendil Ulen escaped damage, ducking behind one of the pillars. He emerged limned with flames, whirling embers spinning around him like a fiery tornado. Marcus could feel the heat of it from his position twenty feet away. Azura's next volley of Ice Storm melted before they reached Ulen.

"He's got a Flame Cloak going!" she called to Marcus. "Be careful!"

"You will not stop what I have begun," Vendil Ulen gloated. "When Mirri and Tilisu returned, you will be dead, and we will be ready to bring Lleril Morvayn his long-delayed justice!"

"Mirri and Tilisu are dead," Marcus shot back. "They wouldn't see reason."

For a brief moment, Vendil faltered. "Dead? Both of them? I don't believe you!"

"I don't care if you do or not," Marcus replied. "But I'm not going to let you kill Councilor Morvayn."

"He murdered my father," Vendil snarled. "He deserves to die."

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus drawled, "and 'revenge is a dish that is best served cold.' I get it. But it's not going to happen today." The heat from Vendil's Flame Cloak was intense, and Marcus thanked Tamsyn for the ring he wore that protected him from both fire and frost. He rushed Ulen from the right and parried the blow aimed at him from the Daedric sword Ulen wielded. Knowing how well shock attacks worked against mages – or anyone who used magic – Marcus sent a Lightning Bolt to Ulen's face, smiling grimly in satisfaction upon hearing the Dunmer's choked cry of rage.

He danced away from the Flame Cloak and waited for Ulen to make his next move. He wasn't disappointed. The older Dunmer sent a fireball toward Marcus, who avoided the attack by leaping and tumbling over Ulen to get behind him.

But Vendil seemed to have anticipated this and quickly thrust upward as Marcus went over his head. There was a crunching sound, like someone squashing a box of Saltines, and Marcus felt pain in his gut and a spreading wetness beneath the dragonplate cuirass. Furthermore, the cut burned like fire, and Marcus felt his vision wobble. Two Ulens stood in front of him now, and he blinked his eyes rapidly to force them to focus.

Azura saw the hit Marcus had taken, but was too strongly pressed by the two remaining Morag Tong to rush to assist. She blocked one attack with Grave and shot the other assassin with Chain Lightning, as Ulen had done to her and Marcus went they first entered the room. She knew Marcus was too far away to be affected by it, but Vendil Ulen wasn't, and he stiffened again in rage as the electricity coursed through both his remaining Tong before striking him.

Feeling woozy, Marcus dropped to one knee. Whatever poison Ulen had applied to his blade, it was virulent, and he felt himself getting weaker. Fighting the urge to close his eyes, he tried to focus on forming a Shout, but couldn't seem to gather enough of his vital essence to do it.

Ulen seemed to sense his opponent was in a bad way, because he smiled grimly to himself, advancing slowly and raising his blade to strike.

" _FO KRAH DIIN!"_

Whirling around, Vendil Ulen's eyes widened in dismay as the wave of frost hit him, extinguishing his Flame Cloak. The spectral warrior that had appeared behind him was something out of a nightmare, with only a torso and arms, but no head. He advanced with his battle axe raised, and Vendil only just blocked the blow that would have taken his head from his shoulders. Enraged once more, he shot at the figure with Icy Spears, but they passed harmlessly through the figure that was rearing back to take another slice at him. This time it was a jump backwards that saved him, but in doing so he stumbled over the bent form of the Dragonborn.

" _FUS RO DAH!"_ bellowed the ghostly figure, and Vendil was picked up and slammed against a chest against the far wall. He lay there stunned, unable to move, watching helplessly as his doom approached with battleaxe raised.

The commotion caused the two Morag Tong assassins fighting Azura to turn, momentarily distracted. She shot one with another Chain Lightning before slipping past the other and running to Marcus. The spell brought the first one to his knees, but the second one lashed out at her, the blade slicing through her shirt and the space she had just vacated.

Tumbling out of his way, she sent a Heal Other at Marcus, hoping it would be enough before turning to deal with the last two Morag Tong. They had split up, the one who had been nearly incapacitated by her shock attack had somehow managed to heal himself, and they were moving apart to try and flank her. She backed up towards Marcus, to protect him and give him a chance to recover from whatever Vendil Ulen's blade had done to him.

She saw the spectral warrior close in on the Tong closest to her. Turning to face him put her back to the other Tong, and that she was reluctant to do. As the ghostly warrior engaged the closer assassin she vacillated, trying to keep her eyes on both Dunmer at once. As she switched her gaze from the closer one to the one across the water from her, she saw him raise a bow and prepared her ward. It would have to be timed just right to deflect the arrows.

But the Tong never got the shot off. A figure rose behind it, a swift movement across the Tong's throat followed, and he toppled over into the water. The figure stepped into the light and Azura saw Sheriah standing there, blood dripping from her dagger. She nodded her thanks and turned to Marcus, letting the spectral warrior dispatch the remaining Tong before disappearing.

Marcus' breathing was erratic, and his color didn't look good.

"It's probably a scathecraw poison," Sheriah said. "We use it a lot because it does so much damage for the little amount we use to taint our blades. Imp stool, scathecraw and essence of skeever tail," she added. "Nasty stuff. Do you have a cure poison potion?"

"No," Azura said. "Won't a restore potion help?"

"It keeps you from dying," Sheriah said, "but you're still in agony. Part of the damage is lingering, ongoing. You're still being poisoned while you're trying to recuperate from it."

"Maybe Marcus has something in his pack," Azura suggested, pulling it off the unresisting Dragonborn and rummaging through it. There were several potions in there, but none which would help cure the poisoning.

"The best we can do, then, is to let it run its course," Sheriah suggested. "I've really thrown my lot in with the two of you, now. My career in the Morag Tong is over."

"Why did you help us?" Azura asked, eyes narrowing. "You didn't have to. You could have gone anywhere, changed your name. In High Rock or Cyrodiil, no one would know who you were. You could even have come back in here and helped your friends kill us. But you didn't. Why?"

"They weren't my friends, for one thing," Sheriah clarified. "They were associates. I worked with them, nothing more. Let's just say I didn't like the direction Vendil Ulen was taking us in, and leave it at that."

It wasn't as satisfactory an answer as Azura had hoped, but she was grateful that Sheriah had not, in fact, come back to help her 'associates.'

A quarter of an hour later, and after several more healing spells from Azura, Marcus was feeling more like his old self, though he still felt weak.

"Ulen?" he asked Azura.

"Over there," she pointed. "And…over there, too. Your ghost friend was very…thorough."

"I'm grateful for that," he smiled weakly. He turned to Sheriah. "Thanks for the help. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did."

"You mentioned career opportunities I thought it might be prudent to explore," she shrugged. "Did you want anything from here before we go?"

"I'd like to have a look in that chest over there," Marcus said, getting to his feet.

"It's locked," Sheriah told him. "Only Vendil had the key."

"That's easily fixed, then," Marcus replied, going to check Ulen's body and retrieving the key.

The chest contained quite a lot of gold, gems and jewelry, well as a few other notes and journals from Vendil Ulen, outlining other plots he had in the works.

"Councilor Morvayn will be most interested in these, I'm sure," he smiled, packing them carefully away.

"How are we going to carry all that stuff?" Azura asked.

"I'll help," Sheriah offered. "I'll need some to live on, I guess, but I'm not greedy."

"What's this?" Azura asked, digging into the very bottom of the chest. She pulled out a mace made of pure ebony, exquisitely carved and chased with red gold. It didn't look anything like the ebony maces Marcus had seen in Skyrim. There were only four blades on the mace each of them scalloped and curved to deal as much damage as possible to whomever or whatever it was used against. Even to his untrained senses, Marcus could tell it radiated with arcane power.

"Wow, that's some mace," Marcus whistled. "I've never seen anything like it. Do you know what this is, Sheriah?"

"Not me," the Dunmer said, shaking her head. "I didn't even know Vendil had it. He kept that chest locked when any of us were around."

"Well, we'll take it with us," Marcus said. "Maybe Neloth knows something about it."

"So we're heading to Tel Mithryn, then?" Azura asked.

"No, we head back to Raven Rock first," Marcus said. "I need to let Councilor Morvayn know what happened here. Not…everything," he added, nodding to Sheriah. "And I intend to keep my promise to you. Let's pack up what we can and head outside. I'll get better reception out there."

Sheriah cocked an eyebrow at Azura, who merely gave her a smug smile.

* * *

Cicero was, at first, horrified that his dear Brother Marcus would even suggest taking on a former Morag Tong assassin.

"Vile, filthy betrayers!" he spat over the long-distance connection.

"Um, Cicero?" Marcus smiled apologetically at Sheriah, who had stiffened in offense. "She's right here, and she can hear you. She's not like the others," he continued. "She's an excellent fighter – especially in non-weapon combat – and she didn't kill me. In fact, she helped us out here. Now her life is forfeit if the rest of the Morag Tong find out. She needs a place to hide. Won't you reconsider?"

There was silence for a long moment on the other end, and for a moment, Marcus thought he'd lost the connection.

"I suppose," Cicero began slowly, "there wouldn't be any harm in talking to her. It's really not for me to say. Mother will have to decide that. Have her come to Dawnstar and wait for me at the Windpeak. By the time she gets here, I'll know whether or not she can stay."

Cicero ended the connection and Marcus gave another apologetic smile to Sheriah. "It's the best I can do, I'm afraid."

"It's more than I had," she shrugged. "Even if they don't take me, Skyrim is a big enough place to get lost in."

"If they don't take you, head to a Dwarven ruin called Alftand," Marcus said. "Give them the password 'freedom' and talk to whoever is in charge. Tell them I sent you."

"Why would I go there?" Sheriah asked, curious.

"Because you have skills that should be passed along to others," Marcus replied. "If you're willing to fight against the Thalmor, that is." He watched her face carefully.

Sheriah's eyes narrowed, and she turned her head aside to spit. "Fetching Thalmor!" she said with venom. "I hate them!"

"Then you'll love Blackreach," Marcus grinned.

They parted company with Sheriah at the docks of Raven Rock, as she boarded the _Sea Squall_ , heading to Windhelm. From there she would catch the ferry to Dawnstar.

"Thanks again for the referrals," she called out, patting her bulging backpack.

"I hope to see you soon," he called back, and waved.

"Was that wise," Azura asked as they headed back into town, "letting her know about Alftand and Blackreach and all?"

"Something in my gut tells me it was," Marcus nodded. "Now let's go talk to Councilor Morvayn."

Lleril Morvayn was, at first, shocked and astonished at the evidence that one of the most influential citizens of Raven Rock was actually a member not only of a family with a long-standing grudge against him, but of the infamous assassins guild, the Morag Tong. He was also saddened by the news of the deaths of two of the Redoran Guard, including Turon Areth.

"I just can't believe it, Adril," he murmured to his Second Councilor. "The Severins have done so much for Raven Rock."

"They did it to gain our confidence, Councilor," Adril Arano said firmly. "They had us all fooled. I should have been more vigilant. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that, old friend," Lleril Morvayn soothed. "It's not your fault."

"If it hadn't been for the efforts of the Dragonborn, here," Arano said, "the outcome might have been disastrous."

"Yes, indeed," Morvayn shuddered. He turned to Marcus. "What you've done for me…for all of Raven Rock…goes far beyond what I would have expected from a traveler to our town. For this you have my deepest gratitude. And please…accept this as my personal 'thank you' for saving my life."

He handed Marcus several large pouches that _clinked_ heavily as the younger man juggled them. Azura grabbed a couple that were ready to fall and made a small _oof!_ at the sudden, unexpected weight.

"Now," Lleril Morvayn grinned, "I'm certain that Adril was prepared to reward you appropriately for everything you've done. However, since a bit of coin hardly seems like enough…I've decided to provide something more…substantial."

 _More than_ this _?_ Marcus wondered, confused. _There's got to be nearly ten thousand gold here!_ But Councilor Morvayn was still speaking, and he forced himself to focus.

"Since the Severin family – or whoever they were – turned out to be criminals, their property is now forfeit. As Councilor, I hereby award you Severin Manor and everything contained therein. You've earned your citizenship here, Marcus of Whiterun, and I hope you'll consider staying with us as a member of our community."

Stunned, Marcus could only gape at the Councilor. Azura was squealing in delight. "That means you'll have a place to stay when you come to visit us in Solstheim, Marcus!"

"Uh..thank you, Councilor, and you too, Second Councilor," he stammered. "I don't know how much time I'll be able to spend in Solstheim. I have family back home in Skyrim, and several projects I'm managing. But thank you, very much!"

Several minutes later found Marcus and Azura lugging everything into Severin Manor. His last trip here hadn't ended well. He expected to see the bodies of Tilisu and Mirri still lying where he had left them, but apparently Second Councilor Arano had been here with a crew to clean the place up while he was at the Citadel.

"This is such a nice place, Marcus!" Azura enthused. "You'll have your own enchanting table and alchemy lab, and even your own forge! There are plenty of supplies here. Oh, and look! There are display cases, mannequins and plaques here, too. There's even a guest bedroom!"

 _Mirri's room,_ he thought, remembering. A wave of frustrated anger overcame him. He knew he wouldn't spend much time here.

"Actually, Azura," he said aloud, "this is as much your home as mine. I couldn't have taken out the entire enclave of Morag Tong without your help. Here." He gave her the second key Adril Arano had given him. "I want you to consider this place your home for as long as you live here on Solstheim. At some point, I'll be going back to Skyrim, but I'm sure you'll want a place independent from Tel Mithryn."

"Well, it _would_ be awkward having to go back there under Neloth's roof," she allowed. "And as much as I like the Retching Netch, it would get costly staying there on a permanent basis." Her smile faded somewhat. "And if I can't go back to the College at Winterhold, I'll have to have _some_ place to live. This wouldn't be so bad."

"I'm sure Tamsyn would take you back," Marcus smiled. "But we have to get to her, first. And that means we'll have to head back to Tel Mithryn to talk to Neloth and see what he's found out. Besides, I left some things there that I should probably bring back and keep here, like those Black Books."

"It's still fairly early," Azura pointed out. "We walked most of the night to get here. We could make a good start back to Tel Mithryn if you want. Or maybe you'd like to get some rest first?"

Marcus shook his head. "No. Time is wasting. I _need_ to find my wife. Let's put some things away here and head back to Neloth."

A half hour later found them heading back through Raven Rock to leave the Bulwark. A young man in a leather jerkin over a white linen shirt, and breeches of the same leather approached him.

"Excuse me, are you Marcus of Whiterun?" he asked.

"Ye-es," Marcus said slowly, knowing a Courier when he saw one.

"I've got a letter for you," the young man said. "Your eyes only, from…Ralis Sedarys at…Kolbjorn Barrow?" The Courier's voice rose questioningly at the end. "Huh, I thought that place was lost. Anyway, looks like that's it," he continued, handing over the sealed letter. "Got to go!" He took off running back into town.

"Who's Ralis Sedarys?" Azura asked.

"Fellow I met on the way to Ashfallow," Marcus answered, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

"What is it?" the Bosmer mage inquired, seeing the frown that creased Marcus' forehead.

"Looks like there's a hold-up on the excavation," he told her, handing her the letter.

" _I hope this message finds you quickly, Marcus,"_ she read. _"We've completed the initial excavation, but have run into some unexpected difficulties. Come as soon as you can."_

"'Unexpected difficulties'?" Azura repeated. "That doesn't sound very encouraging."

"No, it doesn't," Marcus agreed, the frown still etched on his brow. "But Kolbjorn is on the way to Tel Mithryn. We'll stop by there and see what's going on."

"Maybe he just needs more supplies," Azura suggested, hopeful.

"Maybe," Marcus nodded, but in his heart he knew it couldn't be that simple.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up we find out what Tamsyn has been up to in Apocrypha while Marcus has been busy in Solstheim. Miraak does some soul searching of his own, and he's not happy with what he finds. And Marcus and Azura go with Neloth to a Dwarven ruin called Nchardak, where Neloth assures Marcus there is a Black Book he's going to want to take a look at...if they can just get to it. Thanks for being so patient with my slow updates!]  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Marcus and Azura reached Kolbjorn Barrow about midday, and Marcus was beginning to feel bone weary. He'd been awake for the last two days, and the grittiness in his eyes was not completely due to the ash and cinders in the air.

Ralis Sedarys saw them approaching and a dour look crossed his face.

"I'm glad that courier caught up with you," he greeted them.

"What's the problem?" Marcus asked.

"This isn't good. We only got a little ways in when something managed to wake up the draugr. Before I could blink, all the miners were dead and I was next in line. Don't think anyone else made it out alive. This is what I get for skimping on labor."

" _All_ of them dead?" Azura gasped, disconcerted by the Dunmer's apparent lack of compassion for the lost workers.

Marcus frowned. "So what do we do now?" he queried. "Are you going to call it quits?" _Damn!_ he thought privately. _I was hoping there'd be a Word Wall down there! And what about the workers? Is he going to retrieve the bodies?_

"Well, unless you want to deal with the draugr, this whole little venture of ours is over," Ralis drawled. "Might be over either way. It looked like a dead end before the place started crawling. We could have missed something, though. I don't know."

"We should deal with the draugr, Marcus," Azura put in. "At the very least, just so the bodies of the workers can be reclaimed and given proper funeral rites."

Marcus nodded. "I was thinking the same thing, Azura," he said. To Ralis he answered, "We'll go down there and clear out the draugr. Sit tight here and wait for us."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ralis assured him. "At least, not immediately. I'll be here."

The half-dozen draugr in the chamber below were hardly more than a brisk work-out for Marcus and Azura. They quickly finished them off before turning their attention to the problem of finding another way through into the rest of the barrow. Part of the wall appeared to be a doorway, but was sealed with a solid block of stone.

"I've seen something like this before," Marcus told Azura. "Cicero and I went through Potema's Catacombs in Solitude to deal with the ghost of the Wolf Queen who was trying to return. Parts of the tomb were sealed with doors like this. The stone rotates, like a wheel, with a gate in it. When it comes around to a certain point, the iron gate lifts up into the wheel, opening the way."

"How do we get the wheel to rotate, then?" Azura asked.

"It's probably something so simple we're overlooking it," Marcus replied. "Look around. Maybe there's a hidden chain or lever or something."

They searched every inch of the chamber they were in, but could find nothing. Azura examined the altar in the center of the room, but could find no switches or buttons to push.

"There's nothing here!" she groused, waving her arms around in frustration. A skull set on a small plinth went flying as she accidentally hit it. A grinding noise came from the doorway, and as the two watched, the stone rotated around until an iron gate opened up and revealed the next chamber beyond.

"Azura, you're brilliant!" Marcus crowed. He examined the plinth, and could see now how the weight of the skull kept it depressed until it was removed, activating the doorway. Azura picked up the skull, noting to Marcus that it had been intricately carved with ancient Nordic designs. He shuddered as she placed the macabre trophy into her backpack.

They entered the next chamber, which was nearly filled with sand and ash. Directly in front of them was a pedestal that stood about waist high. Sitting on the pedestal were a pair of ancient Nordic boots.

"I can see those are enchanted even from here!" Azura exclaimed. She stepped closer to have a better look, and made a few passes with her hands over the armored foot gear.

"No!" she gasped. "That's impossible!"

"What?" Marcus asked, eyebrows raised. "What's impossible?"

"These boots," Azura said. "The enchantment allows you to walk _on top_ of the water! That enchantment was lost ages ago!"

"Well, Ralis _did_ say he was looking for some ancient relics of…oh, who was it again?...Ahzidal, that was the name!"

"Ahzidal?" Azura mused. "I've never heard of him." She gave a sad, lingering look at the boots. "I suppose we'll have to give these to Ralis, then."

"I'm afraid so," Marcus nodded. "But at least the workers can get back to the excavation. Ralis will have to find more people, though."

They returned to the surface and handed the boots over to a delighted Ralis, who thanked Marcus and Azura profusely for clearing out the barrow.

"Well, perhaps there's some hope for us yet," he told Marcus. "Now, I'll have to go recruit some more miners... it won't be easy, seeing as none of their friends came back from the first attempt. We'll have to sweeten the pot a bit, this time. I think I'll need... say, two thousand septims to hire replacements."

Marcus choked. "Two thousand?" he spluttered. "It didn't cost that much last time!"

"Well, as I said, it's going to take money to make money," Ralis shrugged, "and this little incident hasn't helped our reputation. Do you have the money or not?"

Grumbling, Marcus handed over the septims, which _clinked_ as Ralis tucked them away. "You know, I never get tired of that sound," he smiled. "It'll take me a few days to dig up some more laborers, but swing back when you get a chance. See how we're doing."

"Fine," Marcus growled. "I'll probably be at Tel Mithryn for the next few days. Send word to me there if you turn up anything interesting." He still held out hope of a Word Wall within the Barrow, but he wondered now if Ralis wasn't somehow pulling the wool over his eyes.

It was already dark by the time they reached Tel Mithryn. To the south, across the straits, Marcus could see the angry glow of the Red Mountain, as it continued to spew forth its noxious clouds of gas and ash. The prevailing winds carried most of it to the east, sparing most of Solstheim, but the southern half of the island still resembled a post-apocalyptic nightmare.

Neloth was still awake when arrived.

"I don't think he ever sleeps," Azura whispered.

"Ah! Azura! You've brought your friend back, I see," her former master drawled. "Well, young man, you seem to be making a name for yourself all over Solstheim. Word of your exploits has even reached us here at Tel Mithryn."

"Considering Azura has remained in contact with you," Marcus drawled right back, "I don't exactly find that surprising."

"Hrmm, yes," Neloth muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Still, I wonder if you've made any progress on your own regarding the Black Books?"

"We've found three so far," Marcus replied. "Azura?"

"I'll get them," she offered. "They're still locked safely in my trunk."

"Three, eh?" Neloth mused. "Interesting. I'd be willing to pay you for the privilege of making copies of these. It's far too dangerous to carry the originals around." His gaze swept over the Dragonborn. "Still, you seem quite capable of looking after yourself. Would, say, a thousand septims per Book be satisfactory?"

Marcus kept his face impassive. A thousand gold? Each? That more than made up for the soaking Ralis had given him. "I suppose it will do," he said, managing to sound dubious.

"Excellent!" Neloth chirped as Azura approached, her arms laden with the Black Books. Neloth studied them without opening them, and made several passes over each one in turn. Three ordinary books on a nearby table glowed briefly.

"Now then," the Telvanni mage said at last, "that's that. Well, I must admit I've never seen so many of them all in one place before. Have you opened any of them? Have you been to Apocrypha yet?"

"Just once _,_ " Marcus admitted, pointing to _Waking Dreams_. "It was where I saw Miraak. He kicked me to the curb and sent me back here pretty quick."

"And you didn't meet Hermaeus Mora at all?" Neloth pressed. When Marcus shook his head Neloth muttered, "Strange. I would have thought he would be the first to greet you."

"I have some thoughts about that," Azura began, but Neloth continued as if she hadn't been speaking.

"What you should do is read each of those—"

"Hold up a minute, Neloth," Marcus cut in, raising his hand. "You just talked over Azura. That was very rude." He turned to his companion and smiled. "What did you want to say?"

Azura eyed Neloth, who had turned a darker shade of gray at being corrected in front of someone he considered his inferior, but he made a not-so-gracious gesture of his hands as if to say, "go ahead."

Azura took a deep breath and plunged in. "I think that Book, _Waking Dreams,_ is somehow tied directly to Miraak himself. I thought of this before, that Miraak has been in Apocrypha for so long that he's somehow made a realm for himself. That's why Marcus didn't see Mora when he first went there. And later, he had a…a dream, or a visitation, if you will…from one of the Aedra, who told him where he could find another of the Books. We'd already been to White Ridge Barrow, but never found the Book. When we went back and looked again, we found a hidden room we'd missed, just like his dream told him we would."

"Interesting," Neloth mused. "Did this _dream_ of yours give you any other advice?" The tone of his voice clearly implied he thought it was all fantasy.

"Yeah, actually," Marcus deadpanned. "I was told not to read _Waking Dreams_ again until I was ready to confront Miraak."

"And _are_ you?" Neloth intoned. "Ready to face Miraak, that is?"

"No," Marcus admitted. "There are still a few _rotmulag_ – uh, dragon words, that is – that I need to find. But you mentioned doing some research of your own," he continued. "Have you found any other Black Books?"

"Just one, in an ancient Dwemer ruin known as Nchardak," Neloth replied. "It's not far from here. We can leave now and be there within the hour."

"Now?" Azura asked, dismayed.

"Of course!" Neloth snapped. "The sooner we find the Black Book the sooner we'll know what it contains. There's no time like the present."

"Except that I'm tired," Marcus said firmly. "I've been running on adrenaline for the last twelve hours and I need sleep." His stomach rumbled alarmingly, and he shifted uncomfortably, giving a sheepish grin. "I guess it's been a while since I've eaten, too."

"Ah," Neloth nodded. "I forget sometimes that most people aren't like the Telvanni. We can go days without eating or sleeping."

"Because they forget to," Azura whispered to Marcus, who grinned.

Neloth apparently hadn't heard her, going over to a spot on the wall where several cup-like mushrooms grew.

"Varona!" he shouted into one of them. "Varona! Are you there?"

There was silence for a long moment.

"Varona!"

"I'm here, Master Neloth," the Dunmer woman's voice floated up to them. "What did you need?"

"Wake up Ulves," Neloth ordered. "We need food and drink up here for our guests."

"Food and—" Varona's voice began. "It's the middle of the night, Master Neloth," she pleaded.

"At once, Varona!" Neloth snapped, returning to Marcus and Azura, who glanced at each other in embarrassment.

"We could have just found something on our own," Marcus told Neloth. "There's no need to wake anybody up."

"Nonsense," Neloth dismissed. "You both need food. I need a cup of canis root tea. It helps me think. Besides, it's what I'm paying them for."

* * *

"Are you sure Hermaeus Mora won't attack us here?" Tamsyn asked Miraak.

They were walking through a tunnel that seemed to go under the ocean of infernal ichor that covered most of Apocrypha. Miraak had discovered the tunnel at the root of the mountain upon which he had created his base.

"It would be wise to never be certain about anything concerning Mora," Miraak replied. "But I have used this passage many times in the past. Whether Mora is unaware of it, I cannot say, but if he is, he has permitted me to use it without obstruction."

"What happened between the two of you?" Tamsyn asked, attempting to keep well away from the sides of the tunnel that oozed ichor. "I thought you were his Champion?"

"I was," Miraak said shortly, the Candlelight bobbing before him casting his face into stark planes of light and shadow. "But I soon discovered upon arriving in Apocrypha that Mora had no intention of sending me back to Tamriel…at least, for any permanent duration."

"But he did send you back," Tamsyn pressed.

"Yes," Miraak nodded. "From time to time, I was sent back to do his bidding. Usually it would be to place information where someone would find it, or give advice to someone in order to influence their choices in certain matters one way or the other. But I was never free. Mora had laid claim to my soul when I agreed to be his Champion. Had I but known…" His voice trailed off, and Tamsyn couldn't prevent her next question from slipping out.

"Had you known what, Miraak?" she asked softly.

There was silence in front of her for a long moment, and she thought he might refuse to speak, until he did.

"I did not know then that becoming Mora's Champion meant I gave up my right as Dragonborn to go to Sovngarde when I die. That is how the Daedra seduce us, with promises of power. What they receive in return is our servitude for eternity in the afterlife."

"But you've rejected Hermaeus Mora," Tamsyn pointed out. "Haven't you?"

"The Daedra do not easily give up what has been promised to them," Miraak replied. "I might reject Mora with my mind and heart, but my soul still belongs to him. If I can return to Tamriel, become a living, breathing human again, escape the bonds of Apocrypha, I might be able to purge him from my soul completely."

"How would you do that?" the Arch-Mage asked, stepping carefully around a puddle of ichor on the floor of the tunnel.

"I would take myself to the closest Temple of Akatosh and beg for his blessing," Miraak answered. "The gift of _dovahsos_ and _dovahsil_ comes directly from the Chief of the Nine. It is said that no one can take what the God of Time claims as his own. But I…rejected that claim when I agreed to become Mora's Champion."

Tamsyn said nothing, but turned it over in her mind. On one level it made sense. By turning his back on Akatosh and accepting Hermaeus Mora as his patron, Miraak had severed any connection he might have had to the Chief of the Aedra through his dragon blood and soul. She knew that Marcus, her husband, had a deep, profound communion with the Dragon God of Time that transcended a simple blessing one might receive from a Temple priest.

But Tamsyn hadn't been born yesterday. She still didn't trust Miraak to be completely truthful with her. He might be feeding her bits and pieces of the truth, but there was still a lot of whole cloth out there he had yet to share.

"We are close," Miraak told her several minutes later. "We should be there soon."

"How can you tell?" Tamsyn wrinkled her nose in doubt. "Everything looks the same down here."

"I have a connection to _The Forbidden Fruit,_ having already been there," the First Dragonborn told her. "You will have it, too, once we get inside."

"And how is it that Hermaeus Mora hasn't been able to get in?" Tamsyn queried. "Aren't we still in his realm?"

"In point of fact, yes," Miraak agreed. "But _The Forbidden Fruit_ is not exactly Apocrypha. It is more like a pocket of Aetherius that Apocrypha has swallowed, but is unable to digest."

"Aetherius?" Tamsyn parroted, startled.

"Yes," Miraak confirmed. "But it is cut off from the rest. We cannot get to any other part of Aetherius from there. The knowledge stored there, however, is rumored to have been written by the Aedra themselves. The past, the present and the future are all written down there. Echoes of the Elder Scrolls themselves exist there. You will see."

Against her better instincts, Tamsyn felt herself getting excited. Lost knowledge from the Aedra themselves? She felt as though it was her birthday and Saturalia at once.

The tunnel took a turn to the left and widened out. An unusual glow of white light came from somewhere up ahead, turning the dark, greenish-black walls of the tunnel to a brighter, shamrock hue. It didn't make it look any better.

There was another turn to the right, and there the tunnel ended in a door made of some kind of blue-white material.

"Aetherium!" Tamsyn cried, recognizing it from the game. "I've never seen so much of it in one place!"

"It is indeed aetherium," Miraak confirmed, drawing a small dagger. "And now, you must pay the cost to enter."

"What?" Tamsyn backed up, bringing fire and electricity into her hands. "What are you trying to pull, Miraak? I _knew_ I shouldn't have trusted you!"

Instead of coming for her, however, Miraak threw back his handsome head and laughed. "And you would be correct not to, Arch-Mage. But in this instance, I am not intending to harm you." He turned to the door and removed his gauntlet, tucking it under one arm. With his other gloved hand, he drew the sharp blade of the dagger across his thumb and pressed the bleeding digit to the glowing door, leaving a crimson smear.

As Tamsyn watched, the door absorbed the blood and became pearlescent in the middle, just large enough for a man to pass through.

"I will wait for you on the other side, Arch-Mage," he said indulgently, and stepped through the milky haze of the door. Immediately it solidified once more, and when Tamsyn pressed her hand over it, there was no evidence that it had been transparent just moments before.

 _So that was the riddle,_ she mused to herself. _Mora couldn't get in here because it's a bubble of Aetherius, and he's a Daedra. Not only that, Miraak_ could _get in because his blood is human. The Aedra created Mundus by giving up part of themselves to create it – and everything in it, including humans – which the Daedra never did._

It still didn't answer why Mora allowed Miraak to continue to come here unimpeded, or why he didn't extract the knowledge found here from Miraak's mind by force. It wouldn't have been beneath him to do that. The obvious answer to that last part was that he still found some unfathomable use for Miraak. Was it all just to trap the Last Dragonborn, her husband? That might explain why Mora kept Miraak alive, but not why he hadn't badgered the First Dragonborn for knowledge that had been kept hidden from him. Mora hated secrets – except for the ones he himself kept, of course.

Tamsyn shook her head. It was still too much to wrap her mind around, and Miraak was waiting on the other side. She sighed and drew her own dagger. It was a simple blade made of Skyforge steel, a gift from Aela on her last birthday, and she treasured it. She drew it across her thumb, wincing as she did so, and pressed the bleeding cut to the door.

As before, the portal opened just enough for her to step through, closing behind her.

She turned and looked around.

"Oh…my…gods…" she breathed.

* * *

Neloth was waiting not-so-patiently when Marcus awoke, several hours later. He sipped his canis root tea while his guests broke their fast and prepared themselves for the trip to Nchardak. Marcus caught sight of the Black Book in Neloth's possession, behind a gate that looked to be comprised of rigid plant cells.

"So that's your Black Book?" Marcus asked, nodding his head towards the alcove.

"Hm?" Neloth broke from his musings. "Yes, but trust me, it isn't the one you want."

"How do you know?" Marcus demanded.

"Because I'm quite sure it isn't connected with Miraak," Neloth replied.

"I'm not just looking for Miraak, though," Marcus clarified. "Hermaeus Mora has kidnapped my wife and has hidden her in one of these Books. She might be hidden in yours."

Neloth was silent for a long moment. His orange eyes narrowed in thought. "Hm, yes, I suppose he might do that," he conceded. "Very well. When we return from Nchardak you may look through my Book and see if your wife is there. It's the least I can do, especially if you will allow me to make a copy of the Book we find in Nchardak."

"Deal," Marcus said, putting out his hand.

After another long moment, Neloth cautiously took the proffered hand and the two men shook on it.

"Now," the wizard said briskly, "we should head to Nchardak at once. Time is wasting!"

They left Tel Mithryn, then – after Marcus dropped off some things he didn't need in Azura's chest, including the ebony mace – and headed north along the coast, dealing with the ash spawn that rose up to attack, and chasing off reavers too stupid to realize they were way out of their league.

"It feels good to flex one's muscles, now and then," Neloth said smugly. He pointed to a sunken ruin about a half mile ahead.

"Nchardak," he announced. "An ancient Dwemer city, on the eastern side of Solstheim. It's largely flooded now, but luckily the main library is still above the water. It seems the dwarves were as interested in the Black Books as we are. They seem to have believed this one to be particularly valuable, as it is secured in a mechanism which I have been unable to open. Yet," he intoned.

Azura said little, but Marcus found it fascinating. Most of his covert operations were being organized in Dwemer ruins back home, and as much as he had both Calcelmo and Sorine Jurard working on reviving some of the machines for possible use against the Thalmor, there was still so much about the ancient, mysterious race of mer known as dwarves they did not know.

"You know," Marcus commented, "even ruined, it still looks impressive."

"Doesn't it?" Neloth smiled, thawing a bit towards the Dragonborn. "The Dwemer certainly knew how to build for the ages. These towers have outlasted their creators by millennia. The Book is housed inside that dome." He pointed it out to Marcus. "I sealed the door the last time I was here, as a precaution against thieves and other meddlers."

As they crossed the causeway leading to Nchardak, several arrows _plinked_ down close to them.

"Reavers!" Azura called out, bringing frost and lightning into her hands.

"I had to clear out the riff-raff the last time I was here, too," Neloth complained, irritated. "Where _do_ they all come from?"

Marcus said nothing, but targeted the three coming towards them with his Unrelenting Force and blew them into the Sea of Ghosts beyond. Azura sent a wave of ice towards two archers perched on one of the ruined towers. One succumbed immediately, the other did not. She launched two arrows in rapid succession towards the Bosmer mage, who managed to get her ward up in time.

Neloth sent fireballs at random into the encampment in front of the main dome while Marcus sprinted to get closer.

"Watch out for traps!" Neloth called. "The Dwemer were famous for them."

Marcus knew that only too well, and leaped over a pressure plate that would have sent a ballista bolt right through him had he stepped on it.

Two of the reavers – looking more than a little singed – came down the ramp to greet him with their swords. Marcus plowed through them and swept with Dragonbane, decapitating one and mortally wounding the other.

The one remaining archer, in desperation, sent a flurry of arrows his way, but they were only made of steel, and bounced harmlessly off the dragon bones of his armor. She drew her sword to make a last stand, but before Marcus could call for her surrender, Neloth sent a bolt of electricity her way, callously dispatching her.

"Maybe now we can finally begin what we came here for," the wizard drawled.

Azura looked unhappy.

"Why didn't you let her surrender?" Marcus demanded of Neloth.

"Hm?" he started, looking bewildered. "Oh, you mean the reaver?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about that. In my experience they seldom give up. And I'd rather not have someone like that at my back. Surely you must have experienced similar situations?"

Marcus had, remembering a trip he'd taken with Marcurio to clear out a den of skooma-dealers. The guard outside had begged for mercy, and he insisted Marcurio stand down. The Imperial mage knew better, however, and had saved Marcus' life with a firebolt as the bouncer tried to stab Marcus in the back. He'd been more suspicious and cautious after that, but had endeavored not to allow it to make him too cynical. He still preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. His recent experiences with Sheriah had proven to him that sometimes it was better to hold back. Instinctively, however, he knew he would never convince Neloth of that.

"Never mind," he said now, anger making his voice sharper than he intended. "Let's just get moving."

"Quite right!" Neloth agreed happily. He walked up to the main door, which was fortified by a gate of Dwemer metal, impossible to get through. He pulled a cube from his pocket and set it into a receptacle near the door. "The Dwemer of Nchardak appear to have been fond of these control pedestals," he explained. "Luckily I found a cube to operate it inside on my last visit. I sealed the door when I left to keep out ignorant meddlers. Let me unlock it."

The cube lit up when it hit the receptacle and somewhere deep inside the ruins, machinery hummed and came to life. In less than a minute, the gate dropped into the floor and the opening sealed over as if it had never been there. Neloth opened the main door and they followed him inside, Neloth appearing unconcerned, but Marcus and Azura kept weapons and spells at the ready.

The room inside was a large vaulted chamber with control panels on either side. Designs resembling schematics flanked a large glass display case set into the floor. In the case, so near and yet so far, was a Black Book.

"You can see the Book right there," Neloth said, pointing. "So tantalizingly close… But trust me," he continued, "no magic will open that. I'd have had the Book already if I could."

"How do we get to it, then?" Azura asked.

"We'll have to do this the hard way," Neloth said sourly. "If we can restore the steam supply to this room, I'm certain I can open it. As you'll see, that's easier said than done. This way to the boilers," he said, waving a hand for them to follow him.

He descended a small ramp, and used his control cube on another pedestal, which opened doors to a lift that descended and opened onto what Neloth called the 'Great Chamber.'

"The last time I was here," he explained as he descended a flight of stairs, "I only explored a small part of the ruins. I was here alone, then, and I find an assistant is absolutely essential for this kind of dirty, dangerous work."

"To take the risks you aren't prepared to take?" Marcus asked. Behind him, Azura snorted in agreement, and Neloth narrowed his eyes in irritation.

"Young man," he intoned, "I am a Telvanni wizard of the highest order. I've been around a _lot_ longer than you and have studied a great many things. Putting myself in harm's way would be a tragic waste of knowledge and skill. I don't feel the need to justify my existence with foolish displays of bravado."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Marcus shrugged, and got a glare for his efforts.

Whatever Neloth felt about Marcus' opinion of him, he kept to himself. He turned and led them to a balcony overlooking a vast cavern filled to the bottom of the balcony with murky sea water. All around them, Dwemer architecture rose from the depths in a series of pinnacles and towers. Glowing mushrooms illuminated some of the cavern, and the curious, heatless and flameless dwarven lights did the rest.

Waving expansively about him, the Telvanni wizard declared, "Nchardak, the 'City of a Hundred Towers.' In its heyday it was the largest of the great Dwemer Archives and perhaps the most advanced. In the old stories, when the Nords came to conquer it, it's said the Dwemer submerged the entire city beneath the sea until the invaders gave up."

"I'd have hated to be caught out in the streets when that happened," Marcus quipped. Neloth gave him a pained expression.

"The entire city was sealed against the sea at that time," he explained patiently, as if to a child. "Time has been Nchardak's enemy. The inexorable pounding of the waves has conquered what the Nords could not." He shrugged. "Anyway, I have my doubts about that particular claim. But the city was a marvel of Dwemer engineering. Now reduced to this." He kicked a piece of rubble off the balcony as he spoke and they heard a splash as it hit the water below.

Crossing the balcony, Neloth approached another control pedestal. "As you can see," he continued, "most of the lower levels of the city are flooded. But it isn't hopeless – the old Dwemer pumps still seem to work. Watch."

He placed his control cube in the pedestal, and once more they heard and felt the groaning rumble of dwarven mechanics as the waters began to drain away revealing ramps leading off either side of the balcony and disappearing into the murky depths. After a minute or so, the pumps stopped, leaving several dozen feet of water still in the cavern beyond.

"It doesn't look like we can go any further," Azura remarked, as they picked their way down to a lower balcony. They needed to be careful of their footing, as the stones were slick with moss and algae.

Neloth nodded. "The pumps only operate when a cube is in the pedestal," he confirmed. "Unfortunately, I have only one cube. These four boilers—" He pointed them out to Marcus and Azura; they stood at each corner of the balcony – "provide steam for the room upstairs. They're shut down now, but they still respond to the control cubes. So, if we can find four more cubes, we can turn these boilers back on and restore steam power to the room upstairs. Then I should be able to open the Book's protective case."

"How are we going to find more cubes?" Marcus asked.

"I have an idea," Neloth said smugly. "Follow me. Bring that cube. We'll need it."

He retreated up the ramp, expecting them to follow him. Marcus waited until Azura was heading back to the Reading Room before taking the cube. The waters rushed in, churning and frothing, stirring up centuries of sediment and stink as they did so. Marcus breathed delicately through his mouth, hoping he wouldn't contract some kind of lung disease from fungus, and praying that if he did, Azura's healing spell would be able to cure it.

Neloth had gone ahead while Azura waited for him, and when they rejoined the Telvanni wizard he was perusing the control panels in the room with the Book. Marcus looked over his shoulder and realized what he was looking at was a flow chart of steam boilers and pipes that powered Nchardak, superimposed over a plan of the entire city. This was something he knew!

"Yes…here we are," Neloth muttered. "This device shows the location of four more cubes in this section of the city. It looks like most of the cubes were moved to the lower levels."

"Possibly to try and control the flooding?" Marcus asked.

"It's possible," Neloth agreed. "It would suggest that Nchardak sank during the first cataclysm of Red Mountain. Or, that the Dwemer's servitors continued to try to preserve the city after their creators' disappearance."

"What's this area here?" Marcus asked, pointing to the left side of the schematic.

"I believe that may be some kind of workshop," Neloth replied. "It's where the dwarves would build their animatronics. It looks as though three of the cubes may be through here," he added, pointing out the icons to Marcus, who committed the layout to memory.

"That would give us four, then, right?" he asked.

"It would," Neloth agreed, "but we will actually need five of them."

"Five?" Azura echoed, lifting an eyebrow.

Her former mentor rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

"We need one to operate the pumps in the Great Hall," he explained, as if to a child. "We will need four more to operate the boilers."

"Oh, right," Azura said sheepishly. "It looks like there may be another one over here, then." She pointed to a similar icon on the right-hand side of the schematic.

"That would be the Aqueduct," Neloth said. "Since there are three in the workshop, we should head there first. We'll need them to lower the water in the Great Hall enough to get to the Aqueduct."

This time Neloth led them to a side chamber door which had another control pedestal standing nearby.

"The cube I gave you should open this," he said casually, and waited while Marcus got the door open before passing through.

"Sorry for him being such an ass to you, Azura," Marcus muttered.

"Not your fault," she smiled. "I know what he's like."

"You didn't have to come, you know," he insisted. "You could have avoided being around him."

"And miss out on all this?" Azura blinked before her grin widened. "Not on your life!"

" _Are_ you two coming?" Neloth's voice echoed back to them.

Azura patted Marcus' arm. "Don't worry about me," she smiled. "I'm over him. Let's go get those cubes."

* * *

The room in which Tamsyn found herself glowed of its own accord; a steady, ambient white light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The floors were white, the ceiling was white, and the walls between the hundreds upon hundreds of bookshelves were white as well. One room flowed into the next, but in a steady, linear progression. It would not be possible to get lost in here, though one could easily spend the rest of one's natural lifetime reading book after book in pristine condition. Tamsyn realized at once that all of Apocrypha was a distorted, blasphemous attempt to copy _The Forbidden Fruit._ Where Apocrypha had chaos, this pocket of Aetherius had order. Where much of Hermaeus Mora's hoarded knowledge was ruined and useless, here every book looked as though it was fresh off the presses. Benches were scattered in every room, as well as tables and chairs. Tamsyn wept a little inside at the vast repository of knowledge contained within _The Forbidden Fruit._

"I've never seen anything like this," she breathed.

Miraak chuckled. "I would be surprised if you had," he replied. "While I still lived in Skyrim, there was no formal library anywhere in Tamriel. Cyrodiil had not yet become an empire, so there was no Imperial Library. Even your College of Winterhold did not exist."

"But there are libraries now," Tamsyn pointed out. "I've been to the Imperial Library at the Arcane University. I wasn't impressed."

"It was once much larger, in its heyday," Miraak offered. "During the few times I would be sent back to Tamriel, I would visit there. But I have read that the Second Aldmeri Dominion has destroyed many books that contradict their vision of the world."

"That's the way of tyrants," Tamsyn said sourly. "Destroy or invalidate anything that doesn't agree with you. Make people believe that only you can give them the truth. Keep them ignorant, and they won't know enough to know they can fight back and win."

"You sound as if you have had first-hand experience in this regard," Miraak remarked.

"No, not really," she replied. "In my old world, there was a man who rose to power by playing on people's fears. He burned books that disagreed with his philosophy and was responsible for the deaths of over six million people whose only crime was that they weren't like him."

"Six million?" Miraak faltered. "I did not believe there were that many people in all of Nirn!"

"This was my old world," Tamsyn reminded him. "It was a much larger place. This man I spoke of, his name was Adolf Hitler, and he was responsible for starting a war that involved so many countries they called it a 'world war.' Until I came to Nirn, I believed my father had died in that war."

"And now you know you are half Aedra," Miraak mused.

"Perhaps," Tamsyn shrugged. "I really don't think about it all that much. I'm much more interested in being the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and the wife of Marcus Dragonborn."

"But it is your divine nature that will help us get out of Apocrypha," Miraak said. "Somewhere, here in _The Forbidden Fruit_ , I found a book that hinted at how we might be able to return to Tamriel."

"You mentioned that before," Tamsyn said. "Something about me being able to open a portal to Aetherius."

"Precisely," Miraak nodded. "We need to find that book again."

"There are a bazillion books here!" Tamsyn exclaimed, her jaw dropping slightly. "It would take more lifetimes than I have to find a needle in this haystack!"

"It may not be as difficult as you think," Miraak soothed. "The one we are looking for is equal and opposite to Hermaeus Mora's Black Books. We are looking for a White Book."

Tamsyn glanced around at the shelves surrounding them. There were no White Books in the immediate vicinity. "Well, that might narrow it down a bit," she acknowledged.

"The sooner we begin looking, the better," her companion told her. "Because we are still tied to Apocrypha, we cannot stay very long here. Soon we will have to return to the Summit to rest."

"Alright then," Tamsyn replied briskly. "Let's get to it."

As they searched, Tamsyn found herself mulling over the reality that was Miraak. In the game, he had simply been a straightforward "bad guy" that she was meant to defeat – the culmination and finale of the entire story arch. Little was divulged about his character or personality. Perhaps, she thought now, that was to ensure the player didn't become too sympathetic to Miraak and refuse to fight him at the end. In any case, his habit of stealing dragon souls certainly aggravated her to the point where it didn't take much goading to want retribution. She wondered if he had already done that to Marcus.

Tamsyn loved her husband, but she wasn't blind to his faults. He could be nearly as stubborn as her on certain points, and his temper was never far from the surface. Most of the time he was able to "put a lid on it," as her mother used to say long ago, but Marcus had little tolerance for fools, bigots and swindlers. Once, during a trip to Windhelm, they witnessed Rolff Stone-fist and Angrenor Once-honored bullying and threatening a dark elf woman, Suvaris Atheron. Before Tamsyn could stop him, Marcus had closed the distance and landed a solid punch to Rolff's jaw that shattered it completely. Taken aback, Angrenor didn't react immediately, and he was _fus'd_ into a wall.

The guards came running up at that point, and things might have gotten heated, but Tamsyn cast her strongest calming spell, Harmony, to settle things down enough for explanations to be made. Rolff and Angrenor were sternly warned by both Marcus and the Windhelm guard to stop harassing the dark elves or they'd find out what the inside of a prison cell looked like. Tamsyn healed Rolff's jaw, but politely informed him that if he continued to insult the Dunmer he would find himself throwing up snakes and frogs with every word. Rolff's eyes nearly bugged from his head as he and Angrenor backed away, promising to behave.

"Can you really do that?" Marcus had asked her.

"Of course not!" she murmured. "But _he_ doesn't know that. I _do_ have a reputation, you know."

By tacit, mutual consent, Tamsyn and Miraak had separated to double their search efforts. While many of the books on the shelves intrigued her, and her fingers itched to pull them down and browse through them, she determinedly focused on finding any books with a white cover. There were some, but they weren't the counterparts of Hermaeus Mora's Black Books.

"You're certain they're here?" she groused out loud at one point. Miraak was out of sight, several feet away behind another set of shelves.

"I know they are, Arch-Mage," his voice drifted back to her. "We just have to look through all of them to find the one we need."

"And how will I know which one is the right one?" she demanded, scowling at the shelves in front of her.

"You will know," was all he said.

Tamsyn glared at the books again, as if demanding they give up their secrets to her without having to read each and every one.

"Is the _Oghma Infinium_ in here?" she asked.

"No, Arch-Mage," Miraak said, his voice tinged with mirth. "That Book belongs to Mora. It is highly unlikely we would find it here."

 _Unlikely,_ Tamsyn thought privately. _He didn't say 'impossible.'_ She sighed in exasperation and pulled down another white-bound book that looked promising, but turned out to be another dead-end; although the spell contained within taught her how to dispel another mage's magic, so it was not a complete loss of time.

 _I suppose it could be worse,_ she thought. _At least I might be able to reclaim some of the magic the Dominion is stealing away._

She was beginning to feel weary when Miraak called a halt.

"We must return to the Summit of Apocrypha," he told her. "I find my strength waning."

"I'm feeling a bit worn out myself," Tamsyn admitted. "I don't think we've made much progress, though."

"Perhaps a bit more than you think," Miraak assured her. "Once we have rested, you can return to continue the search."

Tamsyn immediately picked up on the singularity of his statement. "You're not coming back with me?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Mora is always seeking to find weaknesses in my realm," Miraak explained. "I must constantly reinforce the barriers to keep him out."

"I understand," Tamsyn replied, feeling foolish. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I was jumping to conclusions again."

"That is understandable, given the circumstances," Miraak replied easily, as they left _The Forbidden Fruit_ and returned to the gloomy confines of the tunnel that led back to the Summit. "Were I in your position, I would find everything suspect as well."

"You're more forgiving than I would be," Tamsyn confessed. "I'm afraid I'm very good at holding grudges. I try not to be, but Marcus says I have a memory like a mammoth."

"That is a formidably long time to be angry at anything," Miraak remarked drily, making her laugh.

As they made their way back to the Summit, Tamsyn once more reassessed what she knew of Miraak. That he was proud and stubborn, like her, was a given. He was intelligent, resourceful and wily. As witness to these characteristics, she had only to look at the fact that he had carved his own realm out of Apocrypha, separate of Hermaeus Mora's realm, yet part of it.

He had long ago rebelled against being Mora's Champion, but she still didn't trust him enough to feel comfortable bringing him back to Nirn. Still, she couldn't think of a way to get herself back without hanging onto his coattails. Right now, her best option was to play along and see where it led. She knew that at some point, Hermaeus Mora would have enough of Miraak's rebellion to interfere. What would she do then? Tamsyn sighed. Too much depended on unknowns. How sincere was Miraak in his desire to live a quiet, peaceful life? How far had Marcus come in trying to find her? And would she be able to find a way out of Apocrypha on her own?

* * *

The corridor that led to the Nchardak Workshop was filled with a gauntlet of flame jets. Fortunately for Marcus, Azura and Neloth, a pedestal nearby held one of the control cubes they needed. When Marcus took the cube, the jets were switched off.

"I hope all the cubes are this easy to find," Neloth remarked drily. "Come. It looks like we need to proceed this way."

They followed the Telvanni wizard around the corner to a partially submerged chamber. A walkway extended across it to the other side, where two empty control pedestals waited.

"If we put our cubes on these, will that lower the water enough to move around?" Azura asked.

"It is to be assumed as much," Neloth replied. "I've never had more than the one cube, however. But in order to get to the others, we will have to lower the water." He looked at the murky liquid distastefully. "I do hope we won't have to swim in all that filth."

"I've got a feeling we'll have to at some point," Marcus said. "Let's see what this does first, though." He put one cube into a pedestal, and indeed, the pumps rumbled and the water level dropped, exposing Workshop below. Sets of stairs led off to the left, but not to the right, though they could see some sort of doorway on that side. A familiar-looking receptacle waited at the bottom of a short hallway, though the door was placed high up above their heads, even at this level.

A stone causeway encircled the chamber, and several dwemer centurions stood at rest in their holding bays against the walls. Marcus could see several shuttered pipes along the way, as well. He'd been in enough dwemer ruins to know that meant spheres or spiders. A bronze, Dwarven-grilled bridge spanned the section of the doorway at the level of the causeway. It was too low to allow them access to the door.

"These must be the 'Great Workshops of Nchardak'," Neloth commented. "Impressive, even in ruins. In the city's days of glory, it was reputed to be able to assemble a complete automaton in a single day. Much of the Dwemer army at the Battle of Red Mountain must have come from here. Let's have a closer look, shall we?"

They worked their way around the causeway to the first set of stairs that led below. The corridor that led away from the Workshop went back further into the ruins, and Marcus took moment to traverse the short distance to the corner and peeked around it. Rubble, and a broken bridge or gate of dwemer metal, met his searching eyes. At the far end of the corridor, higher than his head, another doorway waited, but there was no way to get up to it. He rejoined the others just in time to see several spheres and spiders eject themselves into the chamber. One of the centurions at the far end also roused itself and the fight was on.

Marcus had to admit that as much of a pain in the ass as Neloth was, the old wizard was more than a match for dwemer constructs. He cast his spells like a virtuoso, targeting weak points and blocking their formidable blows with his wards. He also had a rather irritating habit of boasting while fighting.

"You cannot best my magic!" he taunted the sphere he was fighting, as if he believed it could understand him. "The very elements are at my command!" He blew the sphere away with a Thunderbolt and concentrated on the Centurion coming after them.

"Watch out for its steam breath," he warned. "Head for higher ground if you have to."

"I know how to handle myself!" Marcus snapped back. "I've fought these things before!"

"Have you?" Neloth queried. "Oh, good. I'll leave you to it, then."

And he turned to help Azura with the spheres and spiders she was facing, leaving Marcus to deal with the dwemer steam engine on his own.

"Thanks a lot," Marcus muttered under his breath.

It didn't matter very much in the end. The fight was brief and conclusive. Marcus waited for the Centurion to give him an opening, and then he struck true into the heart of the dynamo core that powered it, bringing it to its knees where he finished it off. He searched through it and brought out the ruby-glowing core, as well as the grand soul gem that had powered the Centurion. For some reason, the cores always fascinated him. Had he the time to study them, he might have explored what made them work.

Azura and Neloth had finished with the other constructs, and Neloth was drawling with satisfaction, "Should have known better than to challenge a Master Wizard of House Telvanni!" Azura rolled her eyes but said nothing as she rounded up the soul gems and other treasure usually found inside the automatons.

The puzzle of how to reach the doorway on the north side of the Workshop was solved when Marcus put their second control cube into the receptacle. Deep in the bowels of Nchardak, machinery rumbled and stone steps slid into place from the floor. The bronze bridge, however, prevented them from ascending until they put the cube in the receptacle near it to raise it up.

"That seems like a rather inefficient design to me," Azura remarked.

"We don't know what the Dwarves intended with this arrangement," Neloth admitted. "I'm sure it was perfectly logical to them. Come along. The next cube, if I remember rightly, should be up here somewhere."

They found the cube tucked in an alcove and guarded by more spiders. When Marcus removed the cube from the pedestal, however, the pumps shut down and water began flooding back into the Workshop.

"We need to get out of here!" Azura exclaimed in alarm.

"Not yet," Neloth contradicted, shaking his head. "There's still one more cube to find. I believe we may find it somewhere south of the Workshop." He pointed across the chamber at the opening on the side opposite them.

"That's going to be a problem, then," Marcus said. "We won't be able to reach the door. The corridor has collapsed."

Neloth gave him a pained look. "If the water level were to rise higher, we should be able to," he reminded them. "We'll still need to bring the other cube with us."

"I'll get it," Azura volunteered, and quickly made her way back over to the upper level pedestals to retrieve the control cube. As soon as she removed it, the water began to rise again, and soon Marcus found himself treading water furiously to keep afloat.

"That should do it," Neloth chirped happily.

 _Easy for you to say!_ Marcus grumbled privately. He had no energy to spare for speech.

Azura swam up to them and gave him a concerned look as they made their way through the collapsed part of the hallway.

"Remember your water-breathing spell," she whispered confidently.

He jerked a nod at her, but soon found his footing as they approached the end of the corridor and clambered up into the next chamber.

The Dwarven ballistae were tough – almost tougher than the Centurion that stepped from its moorings. The bolts they shot went right through the tough, dragonplate armor Marcus wore.

"Hey!" he growled in dismay. "I just fixed that!"

While Neloth and Azura focused on the ballistae, Marcus faced the Centurion. By now he was becoming very familiar with its fighting style. Scalding hot steam was belched out first. In the blinding, agonizing cloud that followed, the behemoth would shoot out bolts of dwemer make, or arrows of ebony or daedric origin. If that didn't stop its foe, it would swing its huge fists around to pummel its enemy into the ground.

Marcus found that avoiding the steam cloud first make everything else go easier. While the bolts and arrows, launched by dwemer machinery, could punch deeper into his armor than if sent by a bow, they still couldn't stop a determined Dragonborn in bringing the metal giant down. And while a punch from its fist could send him across the room if it connected, it was still slow, while Marcus – despite his heavy armor – was quicker and lither on his feet.

As soon as he came within arm's reach of the Centurion, he targeted its central dynamo core with his Akaviri blade and pierced the Tin Man's heart, bringing it down for good.

The air was filled with the sounds of machinery humming, metal clashing and lightning crackling as Azura and Neloth finished off the ballistae.

"Another one for the scrap heap of history," Neloth sniffed. "Try putting yourself back together now! Now, let's get that last cube."

"The water will rise again when we do," Azura reminded him. "The bridge up there is still up. How do we get out of here?"

"We find a way to lower the bridge, of course," Neloth retorted. "Honestly, must I think of everything?"

"Let's look around first," Marcus suggested as Azura bristled. "There's got to be a switch or something we're just not seeing."

A thorough search of the area turned up another receptacle in a forgotten corner of the lower level they entered by. Marcus set the control cube on it briefly and the bridge settled quietly into place, Dwarven pistons and pneumatics preventing it from clanging down.

"The Dwarves certainly were a curious lot," Neloth observed. "They eschewed and rejected magic in general, and instead concentrated on duplicating magical effects with machinery. Brilliant, but short-sighted. There are certain things one can do with magic that machines can never duplicate."

"Maybe they might have been able to do it all if they hadn't disappeared," Marcus suggested. "Did you know the Dwemer?" he asked Neloth.

Neloth scowled. "Young man, I'm old, but I'm not _that_ old. The Dwarves disappeared long before I was born. But they left behind their marvelous works for us to speculate on."

They returned to the upper level as they spoke and approached the control cube resting in its pedestal.

"As soon as we take that, the waters will come flooding in again," Neloth warned. "This corridor behind us leads back out to the Great Chamber, but I wouldn't linger. We have no idea how high the water will rise again."

"You two go on ahead, then," Marcus said. "I'll grab the cube and be right behind you."

"Are you sure, Marcus?" Azura asked, concerned. She knew how he had struggled in the Workshop.

"I'm sure," he smiled. "Go on back to the main hall. I'll be fine."

Giving him a dubious look, Azura followed Neloth back out to the Great Chamber. As soon as they were out of sight, Marcus prepared himself and took the cube. He sprinted for the exit, but the waters rushed in and took his feet out from under him.

Fighting down the panic that threatened to consume him, he focused on his pool of magicka and cast the spell that would allow him to breathe underwater, sending up a prayer of thanks to Azura. If she hadn't mentioned it earlier, he might have forgotten he knew it. _How do mages keep straight every single spell in their arsenal?_ he wondered.

With the spell in place, and finding it possible to breathe once more, Marcus calmly walked out of the Workshop, up the ramp and into the Great Chamber. Azura smiled her relief upon seeing him, and Neloth gave a sniff of acknowledgment.

"There may be more to you than hacking and slashing," he conceded, then turned back to the problem of lowering the water in the cavern beyond.

"I knew you could do it!" Azura whispered, giving him a quick hug.

"We'll need to lower the water in this area before we can proceed any further," Neloth reminded them.

"We've got four cubes," Marcus said. "It should be easy enough."

"But we need five," Neloth pointed out, "or we won't be able to keep the water lowered enough to expose the boilers _and_ activate said boilers at the same time."

"You said there's another cube off that way, right?" Marcus asked, pointing to the north end of the chamber.

"Yes," Neloth said. "That's the Aqueduct, as it's marked on the schematics back there." He tossed his head back toward the control panels behind them. "We'll need to leave two of the cubes here to keep the pumps running. Let's hope we don't need more than two to get to the one in the Aqueduct."

With two cubes seated, the pumps groaned and whined, and eventually most of the murky seawater drained away, exposing the lowest level of the Great Chamber. Azura lost her footing on the slimy ramps and went skidding over the edge, falling about ten feet. Marcus tried to catch her, but he was too late.

"Azura!" he called out, frantic. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," her voice drifted up. "A bit bruised, but not much more than my pride injured."

He saw the golden, peachy glow of Restoration magic flare from somewhere below and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'd watch your footing on these ramps if I were you," Neloth said blandly, and Marcus shot him a glare.

"Don't you have any empathy for others at all?" he demanded.

"Me?" Neloth said with some surprise. "I'm one of the most compassionate people you'll ever meet. I just don't suffer fools gladly. Azura knew the ramps, having been submerged for centuries, would be covered with muck and slime and would require extra care in descending. How is that my fault?"

"She could have been seriously hurt!" Marcus stormed. "Accidents happen, even when we're careful. Surely even _you_ know that!"

"I think perhaps I know that better than anyone," Neloth glared back. "You don't know what I've been through, young man, so I would take it as a personal favor if you withheld any judgement you feel you have the right to make about me." He turned his back and picked his way carefully down the rest of the ramp to the lowest level.

Marcus stood seething for a few minutes, getting his temper back under control. The truth was, Neloth was right. He didn't know much about Neloth's past, and he _had_ been very judgmental. It was the sort of trait he had seen time and again, coming from others, and he didn't like seeing it in himself. Marcus realized that as grating as the mer's personality was, he needed Neloth's help. He was just going to have to accept the Telvanni wizard as he was.

 _Swallow your pride, Marcus,_ he told himself. _Soon it will be all over, and you won't have to associate with him again._

He rejoined Neloth and Azura and cleared his throat.

"Neloth," he began, embarrassed, "I'm…I'm sorry. You were right. I don't know anything about you, and I was jumping to some pretty harsh conclusions."

Neloth stared at him for a long moment. For one brief moment, the corner of his mouth lifted before his face resumed its implacable, undecipherable mask. "Well, boy, there's hope for you yet. Apology accepted. Come along, both of you," he continued briskly. "The Aqueduct lies through those doors."

* * *

Miraak closed his eyes and concentrated on every inch of the barrier he had erected around the Summit of Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora's probings were becoming more frequent and more insistent. The amount of energy needed to maintain the barrier would have exhausted a lesser mage, but Miraak had been beyond master level for millennia. It was still tiring work, rebuilding what Mora attempted to tear down. Part of the problem was the nature of the Summit itself. It was still a part of Apocrypha, and was always attempting to rejoin that from which it had been severed.

Once he was satisfied that his realm was intact once more, Miraak allowed his mind to drift as his energy regenerated. His plan was coming together nicely. Even the setback of losing the All-Maker Stones couldn't stop him from returning to Nirn. Each dragon soul he stole from the Last Dragonborn made him stronger than he had felt in centuries. Once the Arch-Mage opened the portal to Aetherius, she would then be able to open a new portal from there to Nirn, and he could return to Solstheim alive and whole once more.

He absently patted the pocket inside his tunic. The page he had taken from the White Book still lay there, tucked safely away. The Arch-Mage would never guess he had removed it, since he had made sure to slice it out rather than tear it.

He didn't have anything against Tamsyn personally, but as Arch-Mage, and the wife of the Last Dragonborn, she posed a risk to his plans that he could not ignore. The Last Dragonborn alone would not be a problem, Miraak was certain. He could not possibly have learned all the nuances of the Voice that Miraak had spent ages studying. He might know a few _thu'ums,_ mostly those used in combat, but he could not have made a thorough exploration of the uses of the _rotmulag_. No, Marcus Dragonborn was no threat to his plans.

The Arch-Mage, however, being half-Aedra, could quite possibly prevent him from returning at all. And if he did manage to get back to Nirn, she could keep him from reconquering Solstheim and re-establishing his kingdom.

That was why he had taken the page from the White Book. He smiled in his contemplation, remembering the final admonition from the ritual which opened the portals. It had been written as if specifically directed at Tamsyn.

" _Be aware, inasmuch as thou art part of the Aedra, and that we have removed ourselves from Nirn, so shall ye be required to remove thyself from that mortal plane shouldst thou perform this ritual. Thou mayst come to Aetherius, but thou mayst not leave it, as the ritual requires the sacrifice of all that is mortal about thee, leaving only that part which is of the Aedra."_

Miraak smiled. The Arch-Mage, he knew, would be able to get them to Aetherius, but she would never be able to leave it, and she wouldn't find that part out until after he made her create the portal back to Nirn, through which he would escape first.

It was a pity, he thought privately, that she was already married to his nemesis. She would have made an admirable queen. So few had been his equal, even while he still lived in Nirn. He admired her spirit, certainly, and from his observations could tell she would be a formidable opponent if it ever came to a pitched battle between them. Her only failing, in his mind, had been her compassion for others. The Dragon Cult had sapped him of that ages ago.

Without realizing he was doing it, his mind drifted back through the endless haze that had been his life in Apocrypha, to a time when he had still lived in Tamriel. He remembered every detail of the Temple in which he had been raised, from its stark, grey slabs of stone to the banners which snapped and cracked in the winds that howled around the mountain peaks. The cold seeped into one's bones, and even the brightest fires that burned on the sacrificial altars never seemed to take it completely away. Until he had achieved a high enough rank within the Order, Miraak had had to stand in silent observation of those rituals, with the acrid, oily smoke of burning flesh blowing over him and the scores of acolytes waiting in attendance on their Lord, Ahbiilok, an ancient, venerable dragon who served Alduin in this part of Tamriel.

* * *

 _The smoke stung his eyes and made him want to gag, but he knew he must keep his face impassable. Those who broke ranks often ended up as the next sacrifice. Lord Ahbiilok did not tolerate lapses of discipline._

 _Miraak shifted ever so slightly on his feet. He had been standing for several hours now, and the sacrifices of the "volunteers" seemed to go on forever. Next to him, Arnak frowned. A year or so older than Miraak, the Nedic boy was already rising through the ranks, and would soon take vows to become an acolyte, if rumors were to be believed. Temple life did not allow close bonds to form between the novitiates, but Arnak was the first person to show empathy to Miraak when he had been brought to the Temple from his village four years before._

" _Stand still," Arnak breathed, so silently it might have been the wind._

" _My feet hurt," Miraak complained._

" _So do mine," Arnak said. "Just don't show it. Unless you want to end up like_ them _." The barest nod of his head in the direction of the altar was enough._

 _Miraak shuddered, and tried to ignore the cramping in his toes. The Hierarch was droning on and on, interminably, about the glories of the dragon who was their Lord, Ahbiilok. Sometimes their Lord would deign to show up for the sacrifices, but most of the time they were performed even in his absence, as if the Arch-Priests were afraid not to, in case Lord Ahbiilok should notice a decided lack of blood decorating the altar, or a significantly smaller pile of bones at the foot of the escarpment, where all the bodies were pushed afterwards. Miraak privately thought that the rumor about dragon hoards and mounds of gold and jewels was something the uninformed made up, not knowing the reality. Dragons really hoarded bones. Mounds and mounds of bones. The more bones a dragon had in his sacrificial pile, the richer he was._

 _At length, however, the Hierarch finally wound down to a close._

" _Or they've run out of people to sacrifice," Miraak thought privately, as they filed silently back to the novices' quarter to change into their work robes and begin the endless task of scrubbing floors, sweeping and dusting. The older boys who were not yet acolytes usually handled the harder tasks of replacing candles in the chandeliers, or replenishing the braziers that both illuminated and warmed the frigid corridors. Miraak wasn't old enough yet for those chores, so he heaved a sigh, hitched up his brown robes and grabbed a bucket and a brush. He had to break the film of ice on top of the water before he could use it to scrub the floor in the great hall, along with twenty other novices – all boys. No girls or women were allowed in the Temple. The Dragon Cult mimicked their Dragon masters in the belief that women were weak and unable to comprehend the nuances of dominion over weaker beings._

 _Having been taken from his mother at the tender age of five, he could barely remember her face now. His entire life had been given over to the Dragon Cult. Arnak had suggested he had been sold, and Miraak was forced to admit his friend might be right. Other boys had come and gone, and some had admitted coming from poor families where coins were of more value than another mouth to feed. Those who clung to the hope that they had just been "dropped off," and that their parents would "come back for them," were only fooling themselves, and they didn't last long at the Temple. You either fit in, or you didn't. For those that didn't, there was only one way out._

 _Miraak had learned from a very young age not to trust anyone but himself, since life under the rule of the Dragon Cult very often involved angling for the next advancement. But Arnak was easy-going, never criticized, and in general made Miraak's transition from newcomer to novice much easier._

" _Do what you have to do to stay alive," Arnak advised him. "Learn everything you can. Knowing stuff means you can move up. Moving up means you're less likely to be chosen as the next 'volunteer.'"_

 _Miraak knew what that meant. "Volunteers" were grabbed in the middle of the night, bound and gagged, and hauled away from the sleeping quarters. They were usually the boys that never seemed to fit in, or had trouble adapting to life in the Temple. There had been many such abductions when there weren't enough "volunteers" from the neighboring villages. The Hierarch's personal guard – the Red Robes, as they were known – were the ones who came in the night to haul away the "volunteers."_

 _So Miraak studied what they wanted him to study, and learned what they wanted him to learn. He had a keen mind, and difficult concepts seemed to come easily to him. He began learning magic sooner than other boys his age and worked on committing the rituals to memory. If he found them distasteful or grisly, he said nothing to anyone about it._

 _Arnak, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with his studies. He tried his hardest, but could not seem to bring a spark into his hands or manifest magicka in any way._

" _And that's unusual," he told Miraak one day in a self-deprecating tone. "Because my people are supposed to be so good at this."_

" _What will happen to you if you can't learn this?" Miraak asked, fear for his friend clouding his face._

 _Arnak shrugged. "I might get relegated to the guards," he replied. "That wouldn't be so bad. I wouldn't have to know quite so much about magic there. And I've been training with Master Cortisar every spare moment I get with the weapons and the armor. I've been here this long. I think I'll be okay."_

" _Well, let's not take chances," Miraak said stubbornly. "Let's go over the Frostbite spell again. Come on, I'll teach you. It's not hard."_

" _If you get caught working with me, we'll both be in trouble," Arnak warned. "Part of becoming a Dragon Priest is relying only on yourself and what you know. You know this as well as me."_

" _I don't care," Miraak said stubbornly. "You're my friend, and I want to help."_

 _They spent the rest of the hour allotted to them for personal time working on the basic level Destruction spells that all acolytes knew by heart. It was a frustrating hour for both of them, and so absorbed where they in the teaching and the learning that they failed to notice other eyes observing them._

 _The older boy seemed unconcerned, but Miraak was worried. Arnak would be twelve on his next birthday, he claimed. Most of the boys his age were already acolytes. Arnak had not yet made the grade. Miraak, on the other hand, had already surpassed the boys in his group, and he was not yet eleven. An uneasy feeling of dread settled in his stomach. How much longer would Arnak be allowed to stay if he couldn't pass the arcane tests? Even the guards knew basic Destruction spells. The sense of unease didn't leave him as they settled down for the night._

 _Miraak tossed and turned restlessly, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy straw pallet he called his own. He stared into the darkness, worry eating at him, wrestling with his conscience. If the Hierarch, or one of the Underpriests, knew he was helping Arnak, they would both be in trouble. Miraak didn't want to think of the consequences of being found out. On the other hand, Arnak was his friend – his only friend. He couldn't sit back and not do something to help, if it was within his power. Leaving the Temple was unthinkable. Where would they go? They were still children. How would they survive? The closest village was at the foot of the escarpment, and was where many of the sacrifices came from. They couldn't go there; they would be found immediately. Miraak didn't know of any other villages they could go to, even if they_ could _escape. And there was the additional problem of how they would live._

 _No, escape was not an option here. They would just have to work harder to get Arnak past his arcane tests. If he passed those, he wouldn't be required to learn any other magic. He would be sent to the guards and would concentrate on combat and protection from then on._

 _Still feeling restless, Miraak got quietly out of bed. Walking would help burn off the pent-up energy he was feeling, but wandering the corridors at night was forbidden, unless one was answering a call of nature._

" _Can't sleep?" Arnak whispered._

" _Lumpy mattress," Miraak lied._

" _Here, take mine," Arnak said, rolling over and onto Miraak's pallet. "I'm used to sleeping on the floor."_

" _And you think I'm not?" Miraak chuckled._

 _Arnak grinned, but it was almost lost in the gloom. Miraak could hear the amusement in his friend's voice at the reply, however. "Naw, you're soft and squishy, like all Atmorans. Where are you going? They don't like us walking around at night."_

" _Call of nature," Miraak said, keeping his voice low._

" _Don't be long," Arnak yawned. "I'll probably be asleep when you get back."_

 _Miraak grinned, though he knew Arnak wouldn't see it, and padded down to the privy on cold, silent bare feet. He had almost reached it when a glow of torchlight from around the corner up ahead alerted him to danger. He heard the staccato beat of chained boots clanking down the hall, and ducked into the guardrobe just as the four Red Robes came into view. There could be only one reason for Red Robes coming into the novices' quarters this late at night. Cold fear clutched Miraak's stomach._

 _He watched as the Red Robes passed, then slipped silently behind them, staying back a score of feet to keep out of sight. The Red Robes entered the sleeping quarters and paused to stare around the room. Their leader pointed to three beds, and Miraak saw with horror that one of them was his. But the figure sleeping there wasn't him, it was Arnak!_

 _There was no time to react, and indeed, nothing he could have done to prevent what happened next. Each Red Robe cast a Paralysis spell on the boy in the bed and slung them over their shoulders to carry them out. Miraak had swiftly and silently retraced his steps back to the privy to empty both his stomach and his bowels, terrified of his narrow escape and riddled with guilt._

 _It should have been him! They were going to sacrifice him! Why?_

 _The next morning he was summoned into the Hierarach's study. Whatever name he had been born under was lost to time. He was Zahkriisos now, and the supreme head of the Temple, second only to Lord Ahbiilok himself._

 _When Miraak debased himself, Zahkriisos studied the boy. There was something about him that didn't quite fit. He was too…rebellious…to be a good fit as a Dragon Priest. Still, he was talented, there was no doubt of that. He had already mastered apprentice-level Destruction spells, and was studying novice-level Conjuration. He bore watching, and Zahkriisos was inclined to be lenient just this once and forgive the boy his transgression in propping up a flawed novitiate in favor of the guile he'd shown in switching beds with him. How could young Miraak have known he was to have been taken last night?_

 _No matter. The boy was here now, and discipline must be kept._

" _You have displeased me," Zahkriisos intoned._

" _Master, forgive me," Miraak muttered, though he didn't feel remorseful at all. His words and tone were muffled by the flagstones pressed against his face, and he hoped the Hierarch didn't notice._

" _What is our tenant?" the High Priest prompted._

"' _To each man his own,'" Miraak dutifully responded._

" _Do you know why you are here?" came the question, and Miraak remained silent. He had a sneaking suspicion, but admitting it would be tantamount to sealing both his and Arnak's death sentences. He decided to play ignorant._

" _No, Master," he replied, keeping his voice as neutral as he could._

 _There was a sound almost like a sigh behind the insectoid mask that covered Zahkriisos' face. The mask had been a gift from Lord Ahbiilok himself, and was one of only three similar. The other two belonged to High Priests Dukaan and Ahzidal._

" _You are smarter than that, Miraak," Zahkriisos warned. "Do not be so foolish as to play dumb with me. You are here because you attempted to tutor one of your fellow initiates who was incapable of performing the required spells all by himself. Is this not correct?"_

" _Yes, Master," Miraak mumbled, still keeping his face to the floor._

 _Zahkriisos sighed again._

" _Get up," he snapped. "I dislike talking to the floor."_

 _Miraak scrambled to his feet and schooled his face into what he hoped was an emotionless mask. Someday, perhaps, he would have his own mask, and then he wouldn't have to hide what he was thinking from everyone around him._

" _Tutoring another, unless you are a Priest, is forbidden by our laws," the High Priest continued. "Yet you disobeyed and gave instruction to Arnak. What you did was careless and stupid, and put you both in jeopardy. Do you understand this?"_

" _Yes, Master," Miraak nodded, not looking directly at the implacable mask._

" _It will not happen again," the High Priest stated coldly. "Arnak is not suited to be a Dragon Priest. Your actions could have hindered his placement within the guard, for which he was always destined."_

 _Miraak did look up, then. He said nothing, but the expression on his face made Zahkriisos chuckle._

" _Surprised, young Miraak?" The smirk in the voice was undeniable. "I am not the heartless bastard everyone believes me to be. I simply have a set of laws I follow, set down by my Lord Ahbiilok. Within the boundaries of that law I am allowed a certain amount of leeway. Step outside those boundaries, and not even my mercy will help you. You would do well to learn that lesson here and now, young Miraak."_

 _He turned away from the boy and stood facing the narrow arrow-slits that perforated the ten-foot thick stone walls of the Temple. The view was limited, but the High Priest didn't seem to notice._

" _You showed a certain amount of prescience in eluding our apprehending of you," Zahkriisos murmured, almost in admiration. "For that reason, and because of your youth and inexperience, I am disposed to be lenient with you this once. Do not test me further. You may go."_

" _Yes, Master," Miraak said, bowing to the back facing him and shuffling his way backwards towards the door. He desperately wanted to ask what would become of Arnak, but didn't want to push his luck. As soon as the study door closed behind him, he sprinted through the dark, frigid corridors to the novices' quarters._

 _Arnak's pallet was empty. His small chest of personal belongings was gone. Had he already been transferred, or…?_

 _Miraak didn't want to think of it. All he knew at this moment was that his only friend in the world was gone, and it was his fault. He resolved then and there never to allow anyone else grow close to him. The risks were too great and terrible to contemplate._

 _The years passed, the sacrifices continued, the people suffered, and the Dragon Cult remained as cruel and blood-thirsty as they had ever been. Miraak grew to manhood, and was inducted into the Dragon Priesthood at the tender of age of eighteen, much younger than most who had already been there for years. His duties now centered on pleasing Lord Ahbiilok, and that meant arranging the rituals of sacrifice. It was onerous, and messy, and Miraak would far rather have left it to one of the novitiates. Somewhere deep in his soul, he felt tainted, taking part in all the carnage which seemed unnecessary to him. Wouldn't it be better to rule over these people instead of needlessly taking their lives? Couldn't they sacrifice goats instead of people?_

 _He learned, after the first time he made such a blasphemous suggestion, to keep his thoughts to himself. Lord Ahbiilok required blood, and lots of it. The sight and smell of so much blood pleased him, though it privately sickened young Miraak._

 _He had never seen Arnak again, after that night, and was not completely certain his friend was still alive. He had not been sacrificed at their Temple, that was all Miraak knew. The days ahead of him were filled with less physical labor now, and more time spent on lessons in spellcraft, alchemy, enchanting and the rote memorization of the endless list of rituals performed at the Temple which must be done in specific ways because that was how Lord Ahbiilok liked them done._

 _One of the duties assigned to any acolyte was making the trip down the mountain to the village to receive the monthly tithes. Usually three or four acolytes were sent with one of the Adepts and a contingent of Temple guards to gather the food and supplies wrested from the people who scraped a living from the land. Miraak had never been assigned this task before, and the thought of seeing something other than cold, bare granite walls was a thrill he kept smugly to himself, lest something happen at the last moment to prevent him from going. He knew Urthon, a peevish, pimply-face man of indeterminate heritage, had been chosen to go with them, but at the last moment he had been removed and replaced with Miraak, and Urthon was not happy about it._

 _Miraak didn't care. Leaving the Temple for the first time in ten years was a privilege he jealously guarded, and only breathed a sigh of relief as they headed down the steep mountain path. It was another cold, blustery, rainy day, but it looked beautiful to him._

 _The village below had no name that he had ever heard. It was simply "the village," and was rather large and sprawling. Consisting mainly of woodsmen, miners and goat-herds, the people were a mixed-breed of Atmoran invaders and indigenous Nedic people. Most were content to live in the shadow of the mountain under the rule of the Dragon Cult. As long as they paid their tithe on time, they were mainly left to live their lives in peace._

 _The tithe, which was collected each time Masser reached his fullest, included food, clothing, firewood or charcoal, and sometimes sacrificial victims. While Lord Ahbiilok demanded blood sacrifices, the Hierarch, Zahkriisos, knew the folly of plundering the very villages which sustained them. So forays into the neighboring lands were often made by the Temple guards, and the defeated were brought here, to wait until they could be collected._

 _The prisoners were sent up the mountain immediately, along with the heavier supplies. No coin was ever exchanged. The villagers knew their lives were the payment received for the goods they were forced to relinquish. If they refused, as one village had done, Lord Ahbiilok would deal with the offenders personally. No one now could find the place where that village had been. The forests had already reclaimed the area, and the undergrowth masked the scorched, scarred land that lay beneath._

 _That did not mean the people accepted their fate quietly. Whispers followed the Dragon Priests as they made their rounds, but as long as they remained whispers, no retribution was taken._

" _There's that name again," Tedro murmured. He was a tall, lanky Atmoran with short-cropped dark hair and steel grey eyes. Tedro was a few years older than Miraak, and there had been talk that he might be up for promotion soon, and become a full-fledged Dragon Priest, and be permitted to wear a mask. It was a huge honor, and Miraak couldn't help but feel slightly jealous._

" _What name?" he whispered back. Talking in the ranks at this level wasn't strictly forbidden, but it was frowned upon._

" _The forbidden one," Tedro said. "The peasants are saying something about him, and some who are called 'the First Tongues.' It's blasphemy, I tell you!"_

 _Miraak was shocked. Everyone had heard how Lord Alduin's own brother, Lord Paarthurnax, had turned on him, betrayed him, and had even begun teaching the_ thu'um _to mortals! Blasphemy, indeed! Only the High Priests were allowed to use the Shouts, and then only in ritual, in praise of Lord Alduin himself, or his representative – in their case, Lord Ahbiilok. The mortals whom Lord Paarthurnax had taken under his wing were known as the First Tongues, and they were rumored to be very skilled with the_ thu'um.

 _He had heard the Shouts used, of course. It would have been ridiculous to imagine he could not, living in the Temple for as many years as he had. What he had never told anyone, however, was that he could understand the Words being used. Not all of them, certainly, but enough to know what was being said. Something deep inside him stirred whenever the Priests used the Shouts, as though lifting its head to pay attention. Certain words seemed to resonate deeper than others, and he strained to make sense of them. He knew their meanings on the surface, but it seemed to him there was a deeper understanding of the_ rotmulag _that eluded him. It frustrated him, but an inborn caution made him reluctant to seek out assistance in this matter. It was something deeply, personally private for Miraak, so he held his tongue and sought out what information he could in the Temple library._

 _That search wasn't going very well. Many books and scrolls were in the restricted section, in the Hierarch's private library, and Miraak wasn't foolish enough to risk breaking into the Master's personal chambers._

 _The conflict within him threatened to show on his face, so he turned away and stared at the crowds of villagers milling around. It was the first time he could remember seeing people other than the priests and acolytes and novitiates of the Temple, and certainly the first time he could remember seeing so many women in one place. They were mostly plain, care-worn and rough, like their men; like their surroundings. Their hard life did not lend itself to frivolity or joy. Sometimes females were brought to the Temple for sacrifices, but even while arranging the sacrifices was part of his responsibility, Miraak had little to do with wrangling the prisoners to the altar. That was done by the Temple guards. He had yet to even wield the blade which took their lives and offered it up to Lord Ahbiilok._

 _As his eyes passed over the crowds of people moving through the village, the clouds parted briefly and a shaft of sunlight streamed down to illuminate a maiden drawing water from the central well. She turned to look at the assemblage of Dragon Priests as she paused with her bucket full of water perched on the stone ledge of the well, and locked eyes with him. A blush stained her ruddy cheeks, and the breeze caught the wisps of hair coming loose from her long, blonde braid, blowing them into her deep blue eyes._

 _Miraak gave an involuntary gasp, and Tedro glanced at him, briefly, then followed Miraak's stare._

" _Oh, that one?" he smirked. "Better forget about it. She's Tarike, and the village chief's daughter. You aren't important enough for someone like her. She'll be married off to some thick-headed yokel soon, likely as not, and by this time next year she'll be round with child. Put your sights on some other girl, if you have an urge that needs satisfying. Or choose one of the novitiates. They won't complain."_

 _Miraak didn't answer. He knew that was Tedro's preference, but he had no intention of coupling with a boy. Some had tried to force themselves on him, when he was still a novice, but he had managed to fend them off. It had brought him trouble, but nothing that would have gotten him banished or sacrificed. That was simply Temple life._

 _But Tarike…she was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. And he refused to listen to the dry voice in his mind that pointed out he hadn't exactly seen many women to compare her to. He only knew he had to speak with her, but had no clue how to manage that. It was Tedro, surprisingly, who gave him the opportunity._

" _Give this to the girl," he said, handing Miraak a sealed parchment. "It's a list of the supplies we'll need next month. See that she gives it to her father."_

 _Miraak stared at the paper stupidly for a moment, then risked a look up at Tedro. For a brief instant, one eyelid flickered, and Miraak thought he had imagined the wink._

" _We leave in an hour," Tedro said in a bored tone, though the lift of one corner of his mouth belied it. "Surely you can accomplish this task in an hour?"_

 _Miraak gave a jerk of his head and strode purposely – he didn't run, he told himself – over to the well._

 _Tarike looked up at his approach, fear in her eyes, and Miraak hated seeing that reaction to him from her. He smiled, instead, and the fear was replaced with confusion. She waited for him to speak first, as was custom, but now that he was here, he didn't know what to say. His tongue had somehow cloven itself to the roof of his mouth and refused to speak an intelligible word._

" _I…" Miraak started, then faltered. Her eyes were so_ blue! _He wondered just how long her hair was, and if she ever unbound it. A tightness was coiling in his loins, and he felt an unaccountable surge of hate for anyone who would see those glorious tresses flowing free…anyone but_ him, _that was._

" _This is for your father," he said gruffly, shoving the parchment into her hands. "See that he gets it."_

" _Yes, my lord," Tarike replied humbly, dropping him a curtsey of respect and taking the note. Her voice was like Kynareth's sigh in the pine trees around them, like the fluid notes of the pipes which Master Kidreth sometimes played in his free time. "Is there anything else I may do to serve you?"_

 _There was a note of fatality in her voice, as if she knew she belonged to the Temple, body and soul. If using her body would save her life, she was prepared. It told Miraak without words that he would not be the first to use her so, and his jealousy and anger grew._

" _I have an hour," he told her shortly. She nodded and took his hand, leading him to a shed nearby filled with hay for the oxen._

" _We can do a lot in an hour," she smiled._

* * *

 _[Author's Note: We'll get back to Marcus and Azura in the next chapter, I promise. Miraak highjacked my computer and insisted his story be told. We aren't done with that, either, but at least he's satisfied...for now. Next, Marcus retrieves the Black Book from Nchardak and returns to Tel Mithryn to do some 'heavy reading.' If you like what you've read so far, please post a review. Thank you!]  
_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _[Author's Note: My goodness! I didn't think it would take me this long to get this chapter written. Several real-life things have happened to derail me, mostly my job. I work retail "at the corner of Happy and Healthy," for those who might know the slogan, and my work schedule is all over the place. My husband is recovering from a heart attack he had back around New Year's, and we're trying to get the whole work/school/life rhythm back again. I've also gotten sucked into Minecraft, and that has wasted a lot of my time. I won't lie about that. This chapter seemed more difficult to write because of the flow and timing of certain events. Marcus has been bounced back and forth across Solstheim like a pinball, and Tamsyn is starting to feel the drain of being away from her body for so long. Without further ado, let's get on with this chapter. Thank you all for staying with me!]_

* * *

The ballistae guarding the entrance to the Aqueduct were still in proper working order, Marcus found out, as he, Azura and Neloth approached the great bronze doors. Pistons shot out bolts of ebony and Dwemer metal, and Azura only just managed to get her ward up on time. She laid about her with electricity, finding that to work better against dwarven automatons than ice or fire.

Neloth seemed to enjoy the challenge, and continued to taunt the machinery as if they were living, breathing opponents capable of losing their tempers. For his part, Marcus kept his mouth shut and concentrated on the job at hand. Though they appeared to be heavy and ponderous, he soon found out they moved rapidly and could swivel their turret-top in any direction. Fighting them required distance and cover, if one intended to survive, and Marcus certainly wished to come through this ordeal in one piece. That meant his sword remained sheathed and he was forced to rely on either archery or magic.

The hardened Dwemer-metal casing looked impenetrable, even for his dragonbone arrows, but the ballistae were decidedly weak against electrical attacks.

When the cacophony finally subsided, the party entered the Aqueduct in search of the last control cube they would need to activate the boilers and unlock the case that held the Black Book.

"What will you do when we find it?" Azura asked him as they picked their way around the slippery, dripping corridors.

"Probably keep it with the others," he shrugged. "Neloth wants a copy of it, and that's fine, but we're still missing two."

"I will continue my research as to the locations of the other two Books," Neloth called back to them. Though he seemed single-minded, his keen hearing had picked up on their conversation immediately. They hadn't actually been whispering, either. "I would suggest, however, that you do not wait to find the others before exploring the ones you have. Your wife might very well be in one of them, and then you won't have to look any further."

That was a valid point, Marcus had to admit. "Any ideas on how to get her out of Apocrypha?" he asked the Telvanni wizard.

"That might be more difficult," Neloth admitted. "The best way would be for her to return the way she came – through the _Oghma Infinium._ If you happen to find a shadow of it in Apocrypha while you're there, I'd pick it up and hang onto it if I were you. You might find it useful."

He paused before continuing. "What I find more interesting, at this point, was the mace you found in Ashfallow Citadel."

"The mace?" Marcus echoed, remembering the ebony weapon chased with red gold. "What about it?"

"I seem to remember seeing something similar, centuries ago – or at least, hearing something about it. If I recall, there was something particularly special about it. I will have to look into that when we get back. For now, let's keep moving."

They made it safely into the vast chamber that was the Aqueduct. This room appeared to house the machinery that – according to legend – would submerge the entire city underwater to avoid invaders. The lower floor was covered in a six-inch layer of mud and silt, and Neloth stared at it distastefully.

"We need to get to the control pedestals over there," he pointed to their right. "You'll have to find a way to lower these bridges so that we can get across."

"These switches here look like they might control the bridges," Azura said. "If I've learned anything about Dwarven architecture and machinery, they'll have to be activated in a specific sequence."

"I see some of my lessons sank in after all," Neloth remarked drily.

"I didn't learn it from you, Neloth," she countered. "I've been in a few Dwemer ruins on my own."

"Oh," he said, nonplussed. "Well, knowledge is still knowledge, wherever it came from. Since you seem to be the expert here, see if you can't get those bridges down."

Azura's mouth compressed, but she turned to the switches and studied them.

"Any ideas?" she whispered to Marcus, who stayed with her while Neloth descended to the next level below.

"Not a clue," Marcus grinned back. "Go with your gut instinct."

Azura pondered while Neloth tapped his foot impatiently below.

"It might be too obvious to use the center one," she muttered out loud. "What we really want to do is lower the one on the left first, because we have to cross that one first."

She set one of the control cubes on the switch briefly and was pleased to see the bridge on the left lower itself to a horizontal position. Across the chamber from them, another bridge dropped itself across a gap where water continued to gush in.

"Very good!" Neloth called back. "Now the other one."

"It must be the one on the right," Azura said, and set the cube on the switch, lowering the last bridge leading to the pump control pedestals.

"That's it!" Neloth declared. "Don't touch anything else!"

"It's so simple," Azura smiled, happy to have figured it out. "One could easily overthink it!"

"The Dwemer really were something else," Marcus grinned. "I've got a team of experts working on some of their machines back in Blackreach, but they're really only guessing at how they were meant to work and what their purposes were meant to be."

"It sounds so exciting!" Azura exclaimed. "I really wish I could be part of that!"

"I hope you can," Marcus said. "We could really use someone with your talents."

"Are we ready to continue?" Neloth drawled. "Mind the bridges," he added as an afterthought, and with a sidelong glance at Marcus. "They're slippery."

The spheres burst out of their tubes and came rolling toward them almost before they had crossed the first bridge. Neloth and Azura used their shock spells, and Marcus decided to follow suit. Had it been a Centurion, he would have deferred to his steel instead, but he needed the practice. His spells still weren't as strong as Azura's and paled in comparison to Neloth's but he did manage to take out two spheres by himself, and felt more confident for the experience.

At the control station, they realized they only needed one cube to lower the water the rest of the way. If the perimeter floor had been nasty, the lowest level was a slogging mud-fest.

"We don't _all_ need to traipse through that to get the cube," Neloth remarked, his lip curling in distaste. "Azura and I will stay here while you fetch it," he told Marcus. "It should be just though those doors—"

"And the first room on the left. I remember the schematic," the Dragonborn shrugged. "That's fine. Shouldn't take me more than a few minutes."

"Marcus, wait!" Azura called out. He turned back.

"What is it?"

"When you take that last cube, the waters will rush back in again," she warned him. "It will rise up higher than the level of the door. Just be careful."

"I'll remember," he smiled. "Thanks, Azura."

He made his way carefully across the mud-plain that was the lower level to the double-doors at the far end. Heavy, and made of solid Dwemer bronze, he managed to shove first one side open, then the other. When the water came back in, he wanted a clear shot out of the corridor.

Up ahead, around a corner, was a smaller room. The moment he stepped across the threshold, however, whirling blades of bronze sprang up and opened, moving in a tandem dance of death. First together, then apart, and only for a moment or two. There was no way to edge around them. He would have to dash between them.

 _Or…_ he grinned privately to himself. _Am I the Dragonborn, or aren't I?_

" _FEIM!"_ he Shouted, and moved between the blades as they closed together. He could see them pass through his translucent form, but felt nothing.

"And thank Akatosh for _that!"_ he chuckled. As he stepped past the line of the blades, they stopped and retracted. Marcus was certain there had to be some kind of – for lack of a better term – electronic eye, that let the mechanism know it was no longer needed, but he had yet to find evidence of this.

The last cube rested on a pedestal which whirred and hummed, and Marcus knew it controlled the pumps which helped keep the water level as low as it had been before they came into this area. Once he took the cube, the place would flood again, and rapidly. A Dwemer chest nearby caught his eye, and it was unlocked. There wasn't a lot in it; some coins of a slightly older design, a few gems and a couple of potions. There was also a book that, oddly enough, wasn't damaged, though it had been submerged in a dwarven chest for who knew how long.

The cover bore the emblem of Alteration magic, and knowing how spell books worked around here, Marcus was at first reluctant to open it.

"Oh, what the hell?" he muttered, and cracked open the cover on the ancient tome.

A moment later, the book vanished, and the knowledge settled itself into that portion of Marcus' mind that was connected to his magicka.

"So _that's_ how that works!" he murmured, and made a gesture with his hand. Immediately, he felt less encumbered, as though a weight had been lifted off him. It wouldn't last long, he knew. It was an Apprentice-level spell, but it might be enough to help him maneuver his way out of this chamber as the floodwaters crashed back in. Well, that and his water-breathing spell. He hoped his magicka pool was deep enough to handle both.

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Marcus took the cube from its pedestal.

The floor shifted and rumbled under his feet, and water poured in from ventilation shafts in the walls. Remaining as calm as he could, though inside he was panicking, he cast the waterbreathing spell and made his way as quickly as possible back to the main chamber.

One of his worst nightmares had always been drowning to death. Once, when he was about fifteen years old, he and his family had been boating on Lake Geneva in Wisconsin. Marcus had been helping his father set the sail to catch the afternoon breeze that was blowing strongly eastward. Their cabin was on the eastern shore of the lake, and it was time to return.

But Marcus hadn't tied one of the lines correctly and the boom of the sail swung around and caught him, smashing into his head and flipping him overboard. Ordinarily a good swimmer, young Marcus was dazed and woozy from the blow to his head, and unable to stay afloat. He sucked in a lungful of water and blacked out. He remembered clearly that his last thought had been, "But I haven't had sex yet!"

He woke up, choking and gasping, coughing up enough water, his sister Peggy said, to 'fill a gallon jug.' His father had dived in after him and brought him up from the murky water. The experience left him shaken, and it was several years before he felt comfortable on the water again.

 _I'm not_ on _the water this time,_ he thought frantically as the corridor filled before he reached the end. _I'm_ in _it!_

He needn't have worried. The water-breathing spell did its job; though the waters that closed around him made him feel claustrophobic, he was still able to breathe easily enough. And the lingering effects of the feather spell made it easier to reach the surface when he finally cleared the door and reentered the Aqueduct proper.

"Ah!" Neloth called. "I see you were successful. Very good. I'll just take this, then." He removed the cube from the pedestal.

"Neloth! Wait!" Azura cried.

But it was too late. With a roar, more water rushed in, filling the chamber even higher than it was before. The perimeter walkway with the bridges was now under another ten feet of water.

Azura came up spluttering. "That was brilliant!" she scowled angrily. "Now we're _all_ swimming! And how are we going to get out of here? The way we came in is now underwater!"

"We swim, Azura," Neloth said calmly, wiping the water from his eyes. "We need all five cubes. If that means we have to get a little wet now, then so be it. Follow me. We'll head back to the Great Chamber now that we have what we came for."

"You two go on ahead," Marcus told them, swimming closer. "I see something over there I want to check out." He pointed to a far corner of the Aqueduct that had been unreachable before, just to the left of the control station. With the waters this high, and a bit of climbing, he could make it to the other chamber hidden up there.

"I'm sticking with you," Azura said stubbornly. "You don't know what's up there, or how far back it goes."

"Well, don't be too long," Neloth said sourly. "I don't wish to tread water in this filth forever."

"We won't be long," Marcus assured him. "It doesn't look like it goes all that far back. I just want to check it out."

They swam off, and Marcus was sure he heard Neloth mutter under his breath, "Adventurers! Pfft!"

The chamber wasn't very deep, but it was guarded by a ballista. Marcus took a bolt to the chest, and while it knocked the wind out of him for a moment, the tough bones of his dragonplate armor kept it from punching through.

Azura reacted with a bolt of shock from both hands, but the ballista skittered behind a pile of rubble and waited for them to move before emerging to shoot another round of bolts.

"AUGH!" she cried, crumpling.

"AZURA!"

A bolt of Dwemer metal protruded from her thigh. Blood pumped from the wound, and Azura frantically tried to stanch it with a minor healing spell while pulling at the bolt at the same time.

"I'm okay," she whimpered, gasping in pain. "Just…stop that thing!"

"Enough of this!" Marcus growled, nodding. _"TIID KLO UL!"_

Time seemed to slow around him as he rushed forward to put the ballista out of commission. It swung its turret around sluggishly, in an attempt to keep up with him, but he was behind it before it could shoot another bolt at him. Roaring with rage, Marcus swung the Akaviri blade so hard it sliced the top off the ballista like a tomato, exposing the inner workings.

Balling his fingers, he smashed his dragon-plated fist repeatedly into the brains of the automaton, picking the ballista bolts out of the air with one hand and redirecting them harmlessly into the floor. He didn't stop until time resumed itself and he realized the machine was finished, broken beyond repair.

"Azura!" he called, rushing back to her and kneeling by her side. "Are you alright."

"I will be," she hissed in pain. "It has…to come out, but I'm too…scared to pull it. It…hurts too much." She indicated the bolt. It had punched its way completely through her thigh, thankfully missing the artery.

Marcus examined the bolt. Made completely of dwarven bronze, it would be impossible to break it to remove it. It would either have to be pulled out back the way it went in, or pushed completely through. In either case, it was designed to do additional damage from both the wide-bladed head and the metal fletching.

"It's going to hurt," he told her, seriously.

"It hurts now," she winced. "It won't be any worse."

"Don't bet the farm on that," he said, trying to lighten the moment. "You might pass out."

"That would be a mercy," Azura gasped, trying to muster a smile and failing. "You've got healing spells, right?"

"Alright," he nodded. "On three. Are you ready?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"One," Marcus said, grasping the head of the bolt, and Azura winced. Suddenly he yanked it completely through. Azura shrieked, then collapsed, gasping.

"You said…on…three…" she whispered.

He grinned at her. "I lied."

A faint smile crossed her lips as she sank into unconsciousness. Marcus hurriedly cast a healing spell to stanch the blood flow.

"I hurt a scream," Neloth's voice came from below. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Marcus said grimly. "Get up here, Neloth, we've got a problem."

A moment later, the Telvanni wizard scrambled into the chamber. "What seems to be— _Azura!"_ He rushed to her side and knelt. "What happened?" he demanded.

Tersely Marcus told him, and added, "We'll need to get her out of here, but I don't know how we're going to move her."

"She'll move under her own power once she's recovered," Neloth assured him.

"Are you crazy?" Marcus exploded. "I can barely keep the blood from gushing! I might have done more harm than good pulling that damned thing out of her, but I couldn't leave it in!"

"Of course you couldn't," Neloth soothed, and his voice was surprisingly less caustic than before. "When she wakes up we can get moving again."

"Have you heard a word I've said?" Marcus demanded. "She needs more Restoration magic than I can give her. I'm no healer!"

"No," Neloth agreed. "But fortunately for you – and more importantly, for Azura – _I_ happen to be a Master of Restoration."

Pinkish-gold energy flowed from his hands, suffusing Azura with an almost incandescent glow. The blood that had gushed from her leg slowed and stopped, and the torn tissues began to knit themselves back together. Azura's pale skin resumed its normal, golden-tan color, and her breathing slowed and steadied, becoming deeper and more regular. Her eyelids fluttered and opened.

"Marcus?" she breathed. Her milk chocolate-colored eyes searched around and found Neloth instead. "N-Neloth?" she stammered.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked kindly, as if to a child.

"B-better," she replied, confused. "The pain is gone. You… _you_ healed me?"

"Of course I did!" He looked slightly offended. "You think I don't know Restoration magic, do you?"

"No, but I thought—" She broke off. "Never mind what I thought. Where's Marcus?"

"Right here," he smiled. A wave of relief washed over him. He had been truly afraid he'd done more damage than good, but Azura seemed to be recovering swiftly, thanks to Neloth's expertise. With a stab of guilt, Marcus realized he had drastically underestimated the Telvanni wizard's depth of compassion. He also admitted to himself he still had much to learn about magic, and stronger Restoration spells now seemed a bit higher on the list of priorities.

For her part, Azura glared at him. "You lied to me!" she accused. "You told me you'd remove the bolt on 'three'. But you yanked it out on 'one'!"

Marcus shrugged. "If I had yanked it out on 'three' when I told you I would, you would have tensed your muscles up in anticipation," he explained. "By yanking it when you weren't expecting it, it was easier to remove the bolt."

Azura looked only slightly mollified. "I suppose that makes sense," she conceded. "Are we leaving, now?" she asked Neloth.

"Only if you feel up to it," he replied, surprising them both. "We can rest here for a bit if you need it."

"No," she insisted, getting unsteadily to her feet. Marcus put out his arm to support her. "We need to get the Black Book and get out of here," she added. "Everything in this place wants to kill us."

"I couldn't agree more," Neloth chortled. He gave Marcus a stern look. "I hope you found what you were looking for up here, young Dragonborn. It was a rather costly venture, if you ask me." He turned and headed for the edge of the chamber, slipping carefully back into the water. "Come along, Azura."

"Marcus?" Azura called.

"Just a moment," he stalled. Something gleamed on the bronze table at the back of the room, and he moved closer for a better look. A small gem, about the size of the palm of his hand and looking very much like a soul gem banded in bronze, lay on the table. Marcus recognized it; he already had a similar one in his belt pouch. He picked it up.

"It's another one of those Kagrumez stones like the one I bought from Revus Sarvani," he told Azura as he cast his feather spell and slipped into the water after her. "I wonder how many there are?"

"Maybe when this is all over, you can go to Kagrumez and find out," Azura suggested.

Marcus nodded as he swam. Perhaps. But he needed to get through this first.

The trip back to the Great Chamber was uneventful, but Marcus still hated having to swim underwater for most of the length of the corridor out of the Aqueduct. When they emerged, they were dripping and chilled to the bone.

"Let's get that Book and get out of here," Azura complained. "I need a bath!"

"You've just had one," Marcus winked.

"I mean a _real_ one with hot, clean water, not cold, rancid sea water," she groused.

"I couldn't agree more," Neloth concurred. "We'll need to get the boilers working again. We have all five cubes, so it shouldn't be a problem now."

Two of the cubes were keeping the Chamber drained of water, and it was necessary to remove one to use on the boilers. When Marcus took it, the sea rushed back in, stirring up the muck and the fetid smell of decomposed marine life. It didn't come back up to the boiler level, however, and Marcus went back down to put the cubes into the receptacles, one of which stood near a pillar with a blinking button. He remembered seeing similar pillars in Blackreach, when he and Argis had gone to get the Elder Scroll that lay hidden there, and wondered what purpose this one served.

"Uh oh!" Azura called back. "I don't think the denizens of Nchardak liked that! We've got incoming!"

Spheres and spiders scuttled out from their tubes, and Marcus drew his sword.

"We'll handle these," Neloth told him. "You worry about that Centurion we've managed to wake up!"

He pointed across the Great Chamber. A long bronze bridge clanged down, spanning the distance from the far side to the boiler level. Rising from its docking bay across the cavern was the biggest Centurion Marcus had seen yet.

"Holy crap!" he muttered, dropping to a crouch behind the pillar button. It was larger than any Centurion he had seen yet, and bristled with armaments. The ones in Blackreach hadn't been this large! He quailed inside at the thought of getting skewered with the crossbow bolts that thing had to be packing.

The metal giant stood there, scanning the chamber, and Marcus felt a moment's respite. It hadn't seen him yet! He turned over in his mind several strategies for confronting the bronze behemoth, rejecting several. Arrows wouldn't do much damage quickly enough before the thing was on top of him. Going toe-to-toe with it was a bad idea, as well, especially on the narrow confines of the bridge. Spells might be most effective, but Marcus was not as powerful as Azura or Neloth, and while he could feel his magicka pool deepening the more he used his spells, he would still run out before he could bring the colossus down.

Blue light pulsed above him. Marcus glanced up at the button, blinking on the pillar above his head. It hadn't been blinking before. A smile spread slowly across his face as inspiration struck.

 _I may not have to fight this thing!_ he thought deviously.

In one swift fluid motion, he rose to his feet and drew his bow. Nocking an arrow, he let it fly across the chamber. It _pinged_ off the Centurion's armored chest, just missing the core, and the head swiveled around to glare in Marcus' direction. It took its first step forward onto the bridge.

 _This had better work!_ Marcus prayed, and smashed his gauntleted hand down on the button set into the pillar.

Dwemer machinery whirred easily into motion as if centuries of inactivity had never passed, and the drawbridge suddenly rose again, smashing into the Centurion, crushing its chest cavity and the dynamo core inside. The chamber resounded with the horrific shriek of metal against metal as the bronze behemoth slid down the now-upright bridge and crumpled into the water below. As it sank into the depths, a cloud of steam _whooshed_ up with a hiss and a groan. Marcus allowed a smug smile to touch his lips.

 _That went better than I expected!_

He raced up the slick ramp as quickly as he could to rejoin Azura and Neloth as they battled the Dwarven spheres and spiders.

Azura did a double-take when she saw him.

"What happened to the Centurion?" she called.

"He, uh, had a _pressing_ engagement," Marcus quipped as he drew the Akaviri blade and cut the legs out from under a spider.

By now familiar with the Dragonborn's quirky sense of humor, Azura grinned back. "I hope it went well?"

"Oh, it was a _smashing_ success!" Marcus chuckled, sending a bolt of electricity into the same sphere Neloth just hit. The combined shock sent it reeling over the edge of the platform, down the ramp and off into the fathoms below.

Neloth gave him a pained look. "You are aware, I'm sure, that puns are the lowest form of humor?"

Marcus shrugged, still enjoying himself. "It's not my usual _sphere_ ," he admitted. "But sometimes you just have to cross that _bridge_ when you come to it." Neloth cringed.

"Well, those were really bad," he complained.

Marcus chuckled. "There are no bad jokes," he smirked. "Only unappreciative listeners."

Several minutes later there was a lot of scrap metal collected at their feet. Azura picked through them, gathering up the soul gems.

Neloth eyed Marcus steadily. "Very clever, about the Centurion," he conceded. "I always find that thinking things through will often help to avoid a confrontation."

Marcus said nothing, but shot a sidelong glance at Azura, who was rolling her eyes. He hid a grin. He was still feeling the exhilaration of having defeated the Centurion without actually having to fight it, and nothing the Telvanni wizard could say would dampen that mood. Neloth was already heading back to the lift that would take them back to the reading room.

"Come along," he called back to them. "With the boilers activated again, I should be able to open the case that holds the Black Book."

Once they returned to the reading room, it only took Neloth a few minutes to find the controls that unlocked the case and brought the Book up on its pedestal. Marcus and Azura stared at it.

"Well?" Neloth demanded. "Aren't you going to take it? I assume that's what we came here for."

"On three," Azura said quietly. "And I _mean_ on _three_ this time! Is your backpack ready?"

Marcus nodded. "One. Two. _THREE!"_

They both grabbed the Book simultaneously and stuffed it into Marcus' backpack without opening it.

"That's it?" Neloth queried, disappointed. "I would have thought you'd at least look to see if there were pictures inside." There was an unmistakable note of sarcasm in his voice.

"My wife was trapped in Apocrypha by opening one of Hermaeus Mora's books," Marcus reasoned. "I'm not giving Mora a chance to do the same to me. And I'm not going to read it here, where it isn't exactly safe."

"Hmm," Neloth rumbled. "You do have a point. Very well, let us return to Tel Mithryn, then. You should be safe enough there. Come along, you two." He led the way out of Nchardak and into the hazy light of the Solstheim day.

They were greeted by a gout of flame and a deafening roar as a dragon attacked from nowhere.

"Augh!" Azura cried, firing off a healing spell immediately. "Where did he come from?"

"I don't know," Marcus gritted, hissing in pain. "But he's not staying long! _JOOR ZAH FRUL!"_ he bellowed at the bronze firedrake.

But the dragon nimbly avoided the _thu'um_ and landed on the dome of a sunken tower nearby.

"I am Krosulhah," he proudly declared. "My lord Miraak commands your death. So shall it be!" He launched himself into the air once more and gained altitude before turning about to commence another strafing run.

Neloth and Azura were already firing off electrical spells, which seemed to have limited effect on Krosulhah. They dove to either side as the dragon laid down a line of fire in his wake. Marcus had brought his bow up again, waiting for the rawness of his throat to ease before he could Shout again. It wouldn't take long, with Dragonrend. He fired off two dragonbone arrows in quick succession and was satisfied to see one hit Krosulhah's foreleg and the other tear through his left wing.

The dragon roared again in annoyance as he veered off and circled around. Azura scrambled up a pile of rubble as nimbly as a deer and switched to her familiar frost-based attacks. A direct hit caused Krosulhah to shudder in mid-air, and she gave a smug smile.

"Didn't like that one, did you?" she crowed. "I've got more where that came from."

"You might be on to something," Neloth conceded, and proceeded to launch frost attacks of his own. Suddenly, Krosulhah found himself dodging a battery of Icy Spears and Ice Storms. Still, his flame attacks caused both mages to bring up their wards or risk being rotisseried.

Marcus bided his time, waiting for the chance to use Dragonrend again. It came when the firedrake hovered in mid-air above Neloth, whose frost spells seemed to be the cause of great annoyance to the dragon.

"Dagon's eyeballs, but you're an ugly one!" the Telvanni wizard sneered. "What are you going to do? Breathe on me?"

Another gout of flame was his answer as Krosulhah immolated him. Marcus yelled and Azura gasped, but when the smoke and flames cleared, Neloth stood unharmed behind his glowing ward.

"By Malacath's hairy knuckles, you'll pay for that!" Neloth cried. "You've scorched my best robes!" He shot two Icy Spears directly up Krosulhah's nose, and the dragon recoiled, snorting and shaking his head.

"Well, don't just stand there," Neloth glared at Marcus. "Do whatever it is you Dragonborn do in a situation like this!"

Marcus bellowed out Dragonrend again, and this time he didn't miss. Krosulhah shuddered and stumbled in the air, wings pumping furiously to keep himself aloft, but the _thu'um_ had its death-grip on him and he settled with a resounding _thud_ to the ground.

" _Bein rotmulag!"_ he groaned, pain etched across his face. "What foul words are these? No _dovah_ would stoop to such vile _tahrovin!"_

"As your brothers are fond of pointing out," Marcus growled, drawing Dragonbane, "I may wear the bones of your brothers, but I'll never be a dragon."

Weakened by the frost attacks already, and though he put up a mighty struggle, the end was inevitable. Marcus struck the final blow and Krosulhah shuddered, sinking lifeless onto the pavement. Marcus sheathed Dragonbane and braced himself for the head-rush to come.

There was a sudden explosion nearby, and Marcus opened his eyes to see the shimmering form of Miraak standing there, smugly superior, as the soul went into him.

"Do you ever wonder if it hurts?" the servant of Hermaeus Mora mused in a gloating tone. "To have one's soul ripped out like that?"

"I've been soul-trapped before, Miraak," Marcus gritted, frustrated, knowing he was losing yet another precious dragon soul to Hermaeus Mora's champion. "It wasn't that bad."

" _Partially_ soul-trapped, Dragonborn," Miraak corrected. "There is a vast difference. In any case, I grow ever stronger. One step closer to my return. Oh, and may I say, your wife is a charming companion."

Marcus faltered. "Tamsyn? Where is she?"

Miraak began to fade out. "We will meet again soon, Dragonborn."

Marcus rushed the image, swinging wildly with his fists, though he knew it wouldn't do any good. "Where is my wife, you son of a bitch? What have you done with her? _Answer me!"_

But the image of the First Dragonborn had already faded, and Marcus gave vent to his frustration by dropping to his knees and letting out a primal scream that sent the netches off-shore drifting away for cover.

"I think it would be best if we return to Tel Mithryn," Neloth suggested quietly, coming up behind a gasping Marcus. "If you want to find your wife, I would advise reading those Black Books. Even if she isn't hidden in them, you will have eliminated them as possibilities. I will continue my research as to the whereabouts of the other two."

"Come on, Marcus," Azura encouraged, tucking her hand through his arm and pulling him to his feet. "There's nothing more we can do here. We'll find Tamsyn, I promise you we will!"

Blindly, Marcus allowed himself to be led back to Neloth's tower, but it was quite some time before he got his rage under control. He took most of it out on the ash spawn that attacked them on their way back. He didn't stop to pick through their remains. Azura did.

* * *

Tamsyn was alone in _The Forbidden Fruit._ Miraak had insisted he needed to monitor the protective shield around his little corner of Apocrypha. She had learned, through some probing of her own, that it extended not just around the Summit, but under it as well, and surrounded the tunnel through which she had passed to reach the realm of Aetherius that was trapped inside Apocrypha. This was how he had been able to travel here with impunity, without Hermaeus Mora being able to accost him.

She was feeling very frustrated, and more than a little exhausted. How long had she been a prisoner in Apocrypha? A few days? A week? Longer? She was feeling tired and wan, and more than a little hungry, though she suspected the latter was due to her physical form back at the College being inactive for so long. How much longer could she remain here before her physical form died?

She shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to die; not now, when so many things were happening.

Dutifully, she turned her mind back to her search. Though there had been a few White Books on the shelves she had explored, none of them had contained any ritual for creating a portal to Aetherius. That didn't mean she didn't pack them away to take home with her.

Tamsyn was beginning to wonder whether Miraak had simply been blowing smoke up her backside to keep her from preventing him from hindering Marcus in his search for her. Perhaps Miraak was not as estranged from Hermaeus Mora as he would like her to believe? Just how far would she be able to trust Miraak, if she managed to find a way home on her own? She still held out hope of finding a copy of the _Oghma Infinium,_ but being able to create a portal to Aetherius _would_ make it easier to see her father again.

She wasn't completely sure she couldn't follow Marcus back to Nirn through one of Mora's Black Books, even if her husband could find her in the vast expanse of Apocrypha. It was possible, perhaps, but she was hoping for a back-up plan if the situation called for it. She had said none of this to Miraak, of course. How much the First Dragonborn had read about her in these archives, she had no way of knowing, but she wasn't going to help him along by revealing her innermost thoughts.

Tamsyn sighed and continued searching. Another White Book sat on a shelf just around the corner, and she pulled it down, expecting nothing but more frustration and disappointment.

" _My dearest Daughter,"_ she read, _"I knew – or rather, I_ hoped _– that you would someday find this Book. I have laid some of my most powerful enchantments upon it to keep my words to you from prying eyes."_

Tamsyn paused and looked around. She could almost hear her father's voice in her mind, but she was alone in _The Forbidden Fruit._ She turned back to the Book.

" _Anyone who might pick up this Book and read it might learn a few interesting spells I've deigned to share, but nothing more than that._

" _If you are reading this, it means you are in Apocrypha. How you have come to be in such a forbidding, dangerous place, I don't even want to contemplate, but hopefully you are safe for the moment. I know you must be in the company of the First Dragonborn, for I know he was taken to Apocrypha by our Enemy – and I will not name him here – back in the Mythic Era._

" _Our Enemy is not the only one who has access to hidden, secret knowledge. I know the First Dragonborn will attempt to use you to make his escape from his prison, for make no mistake: he is as much a prisoner of Apocrypha as you are. But do not trust him. He will use you to get what he wants."_

"I already knew that, Daddy," Tamsyn whispered with an indulgent smile. "I wasn't born yesterday."

" _The First Dragonborn may attempt to trick you into using your magic in ways you have never attempted before. There is a danger in following this path. You are half Divine, and thus you have immense powers beyond what ordinary mages could hope to emulate. But you are also half Mortal, and there is a limit and consequences to what you might wish to attempt. Use caution and the knowledge you have gained in your time in Tamriel in your efforts to free yourself from our Enemy's grasp."_

Tamsyn stared at the continuous corridor of bookshelves that disappeared into infinity. Her father's words disturbed her. Limits and consequences to using her power, he had said. The Auger of Dunlaine had cautioned her as well, not long ago.

" _You will attempt magics that have never been attempted before by mortals,"_ he told her. _"Do not give in to the hubris that makes you believe you are one with the gods, lest you find yourself joining me in this half-life in which I am cursed to exist."_

As she sat there in _The Forbidden Fruit_ , Tamsyn couldn't help but wonder sourly what her father wanted her to do.

"You told me to find the lost magics, Daddy," she scowled to herself, "then you tell me not to do them. Which is it going to be?" She returned to the Book to see if there was any additional wisdom her father wished to impart to her.

" _I know how impatient you are, my dearest Daughter,"_ Julianos wrote, _"and I know sometimes you will do exactly what you wish to do, despite the advice of others. Understand that certain Powers are the domain of the Divines; accessing and tapping into these Powers would force you to forfeit your Mortality. I am anxious to see you again,_ ma cherie, _but not too soon."_

A chill ran down Tamsyn's spine. That was about as direct a warning as one could get. Attempting god-like Powers could kill her.

"Duty noted, Daddy," she whispered humbly.

" _As for escaping Apocrypha,"_ her father continued, _"there are only a few ways known to exist. The first is by the same method in which you arrived, whether by one of our Enemy's Black Books, or by a conjurer's summoning circle, if you have sufficient knowledge of the Outer Planes. I would not attempt that latter method, unless you are confident you know the exact spatial and temporal coordinates to bring yourself back without intersecting with an existing solid object – which would result in death, of course – or place you several hundred feet too high or too low – again, a rather gruesome termination to your exploration of other realms. You might also find yourself too far back in the past, or too far ahead in the future to return to your family."_

Tamsyn shuddered. No indeed, she wouldn't be attempting _that_ way home.

" _The last method is by creating a portal to Aetherius, and from there, creating a portal back to Nirn. Since this method draws upon your very nature, it is very difficult and dangerous to attempt, but if you have no other alternative, and your only other option is to remain in Apocrypha until you die, then you might have no other choice than to perform the following spell…"_

At this point, Julianos detailed every word and gesture a mage would need to know to create a portal to the realm of the gods. Delightedly, Tamsyn drank in every part of it, feeling the knowledge absorb into her and become part of her. In the past, when she learned a new spell, she would immediately attempt it to make certain it worked. Her father's words, however, made her pause.

This wasn't some ordinary, novice-level Conjuration spell. It wasn't even the Master-level ritual she'd taken under Phinas Gestor's guidance to summon a Dremora Lord to gain a Sigil stone. This was a full-scale, god-level spell designed to open a portal to Aetherius itself – the very type of spell her father had cautioned her to use only as a last resort. She stared at the Book, laying open in her lap, reluctant to close that last connection she had had with her father.

She turned the last page, but it was blank. There was nothing more. The Book ended with the ritual. There were no parting words from her father, which seemed completely out of character for him.

As she turned the page back to the ritual, it slipped completely free of the Book and fell to the floor. Curious, Tamsyn picked up the page and examined it closely, then opened the back cover and studied it carefully.

Faintly, she could see a slight indentation in the back cover that ran from the top to the bottom, along the spine, as though someone had taken a very sharp knife and cut the page out of the Book. Doing so had sliced partially through the blank page, which had slipped completely free when she turned it.

"Someone's removed the last part of the spell," she murmured softly. "And I know who. But why? What don't you want me to see, Miraak?"

Deciding to say nothing to the First Dragonborn about this, Tamsyn packed the Book away carefully into her backpack and made her way back to the Summit. Miraak wasn't there when she returned, and she had a feeling she knew where he'd gone. Her husband wasn't going to be happy about it at all.

* * *

As Marcus, Azura and Neloth approached Tel Mithryn, its mushroom silhouette rising from the ashes to the south, a courier ran up to them and greeted Marcus.

"I've been looking for you," he said. "I've got another note from your friend Ralis. I hope everything is alright."

He handed over the letter and took off, heading back to Raven Rock. Dourly, Marcus broke the seal and opened the parchment.

"What does he say?" Azura asked as Marcus scanned the missive. He handed it over to her.

"Read it for yourself," he sighed.

" _I don't want you to panic, but I need to see you at the barrow. Quickly. –Ralis."_

"It sounds urgent," Azura said with a frown.

"I have a feeling I know what's happened," Marcus muttered. "They've probably woken up more draugr."

"Oh, I hope not!" Azura exclaimed. "Should we go right now?"

"If we don't want to lose any more diggers, we probably should," Marcus replied, blowing out a breath of frustration.

"Does this mean you won't be exploring the Black Books?" Neloth inquired.

"Not right at the moment," Marcus nodded. "We should be back tomorrow, though, if all goes well. We'll do it then."

All was not well, however, at Kolbjorn. Ralis met them with the bad news. "Draugr again," he said sourly. "I mean... we should have expected it, right? What else do you find in these damn crypts, but waves and waves of draugr? At least six of the diggers are dead. The rest of them ran off, and I don't blame them. You've had some luck with these things before. Do you think you could... go back in? See if anyone's still alive?"

"I suppose I'll have to, if we're to make any progress," Marcus said grimly. "I'm starting to wonder if this whole thing is worth it, though."

"Just let me know when you've had enough," Ralis shrugged. "I've already spent more time on this barrow than I bargained for with my original client."

"Yeah, well maybe you can pass along some of the costs of doing business with him," Marcus muttered, before heaving a sigh. "Alright, Azura," he continued. "Let's go see what's stirring down there."

They made their way back down into Kolbjorn, and Marcus could see quite a bit of progress had been made before the barrow's minions had disposed of the work crew. The draugr weren't much of a challenge after Dwarven ballistae and Centurions, and the two explorers found themselves in a large chamber still mostly filled with compacted ash. Marcus stopped in his tracks.

"What's the matter?" Azura asked him as he prowled the perimeter along one side of the chamber. He seemed to be listening for something. At length he stopped, facing the wall, looking down.

"I must be right on top of it," he mused.

"What are you talking about?" the Bosmer mage pressed.

"I hear a Word Wall," he said, looking up at her and grinning. "I wasn't sure there would be one here, but I can hear the chanting."

"What chanting?" Azura asked, skepticism etched on her face. "I don't hear anything."

"No, you wouldn't," Marcus smiled. "You're not Dragonborn. But I can hear it, and that's good enough for me. Let's go back and talk to Ralis."

"You're not going to keep throwing money at this, are you?" Azura gaped.

"I wasn't going to," he admitted, "but now that I _know_ there's a _thu'um_ down here, I almost _have_ to."

"It's your coin purse," Azura said, shaking her head.

They headed back outside and handed over a ring they'd found in the barrow, which Ralis declared must be Ahzidal's Ring of Necromancy. He was delighted to have it, but not surprised when they told him about finding the mercenaries and miners inside all dead.

"I should have figured," he replied sourly. "Damn. Well, at least we can get back to work. But hazard pay keeps piling up, and this won't be getting any cheaper. I'm going to hire some mercenaries this time, too. Having some people around who know how to fight should... Well, it'll set the miners at ease. And hopefully keep them alive. But they won't be cheap either. It's going to hit three thousand this time, I'm afraid. Have you got that on you?"

Azura said nothing but glanced at the Dragonborn.

 _There's a_ thu'um _down there, Marcus, just keep remembering that,_ he told himself as he handed over the cash. "This had better be worth it, Ralis," he gritted out.

"We're going to be making this back fifty-fold, partner" Ralis assured him. "Trust me on this. I'll go hire a new crew, and some brawny types to keep them safe. Come back and check in on us in a few days. Nothing can stop us this time!"

Marcus wasn't so sure, but said nothing. He and Azura headed back to Tel Mithryn and arrived well after dark. Varona greeted them with a light meal before they headed to bed.

"Master Neloth will see you in the morning," she told them. She seemed surprised that her master had enough consideration to leave instructions. "I probably won't see you when you wake," she continued. "I need to head to Raven Rock to pick up some supplies that came in."

"Thank you, Varona," Azura beamed. "Have a safe trip."

Morning dawned smudge-smeared and hazy, as usual for Solstheim, and Marcus found he was up before Azura. Neloth and Talvas were already up and working on their respective experiments.

"Ah! There you are, Dragonborn!" Neloth greeted him, looking up from the book he was reading. "Ready to lose yourself in a good Book?" He chortled at his own joke.

"I'm sure there's nothing 'good' about it, Neloth," Marcus said with a wry twist of his lips. "But I think I'll wait for Azura to join me."

"Why?"

"Because it might be a good idea to have someone with me who will have my back in there," Marcus explained patiently.

"As far as I know, you'll be entering the Book alone," Neloth said. "I don't believe you can go together."

"That's as far as you know," Marcus said equably. "Have you ever tried going in with a partner?"

Neloth admitted he hadn't. "I've only been to Apocrypha once," he replied. "And once, for me, was quite enough. There is far too much temptation to lose oneself in the lure of forbidden knowledge. That's how Mora traps the unwary. Fortunately for me, I'm stronger than that. I found the knowledge I needed at the time, and have not seen the need to repeat the experience at any price."

"Have you had any luck in tracking down the other two Books?" Marcus asked him.

"Not yet, but my research is not yet complete, either," Neloth replied, gesturing for Marcus to sit in the chair next to him. "I have, however, been looking at – and into – that mace you brought back from Ashfallow Citadel. It seems to me I've read something about it before, but I can't remember what book it was in. I'll need to do some more research to be sure, but if I were you, I would take it with you into Apocrypha."

"Why?" Marcus shrugged. "I mean, I can use a mace, but I'm better and more comfortable with a sword."

Neloth studied him for a long moment. "As you say, but wouldn't it be better to have a back-up weapon? You've already broken one, I understand."

Marcus glowered. He didn't need Neloth to remind him that Alduin's Bane lay in pieces at the bottom of Azura's chest. He hadn't taken everything back to Severin Manor yet.

"I'll take it under consideration," he grumbled. But he retrieved the mace from Azura's chest in any case. Marcus was beginning to appreciate that perhaps Neloth knew quite a bit more than he was ready to divulge at any given moment. It almost seemed as though he waited for his audience to come to conclusions themselves before revealing answers.

 _Like any professor I ever had at college,_ Marcus thought. This sudden epiphany into Neloth's character seemed to make all the arrogance and discourtesy the Dunmer exhibited fall into place. He wasn't just short-tempered and impatient; he was goading his students and apprentices into finding the answers on their own. Only when they were truly too thick-witted to grasp the concepts did the wizard's acerbic tongue lash out.

 _The guy's like an onion,_ Marcus mused. _Just one damn layer after another._

Azura joined them shortly after, and together they debated which Black Book to open first.

"I was specifically warned not to read _Waking Dreams_ again until I was strong enough to face Miraak," Marcus told them. "I don't feel I'm there yet. I only know one of the _rotmulag_ for the Bend Will Shout," he continued, "and I don't know the final Word of the Dragon Aspect Shout."

"Is that the one where that headless warrior appeared?" Azura asked.

Marcus nodded, chuckling. "I think he was only headless because I'm lacking the final Word," he grinned.

"Alright, we'll set that one aside," Azura said, carefully pushing it away with the end of her staff. "That leaves _The Sallow Regent_ , which we found in White Ridge Barrow, _The Winds of Change_ from Raven Rock Mine, and _Epistolary Acumen,_ which we just picked up from Nchardak."

"Don't forget my Book," Neloth reminded them, pointing it out in its alcove. The door was now open. "It's called _The Hidden Twilight._ You should read all of them if you wish to find your wife. You might even find certain…rewards at the end of the Books which you may find useful."

"Rewards?" Azura echoed. "What kind of rewards?"

"Well, not of a monetary sort," Neloth shrugged, looking up from the history book he was perusing. "Though that certainly exists there. No, I'm talking about powers granted to you by Hermaeus Mora himself for traversing the Book in its entirety."

"The only thing I want from Mora is my wife back," Marcus growled. "Nothing else matters to me."

Neloth shrugged again. "As you say. But I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." He went back to his reading.

"So, which one, then?" Azura prompted.

Marcus spread his hand helplessly. "I don't think it matters at this point," he admitted. "Let's just start with the one we just picked up and go from there."

Across the room Neloth observed them carefully, though he pretended to be reading. Marcus knew the old wizard didn't believe they'd be able to enter the Book together, but he and Azura had rehearsed this already with an ordinary book, and he felt confident they could pull it off.

Clasping hands, they reached for _Epistolary Acumen_ together, each grasping one cover.

"On three," Marcus said quietly, and Azura nodded. "One…two…three!"

Simultaneously, they opened the Book. Greenish-black tentacles reached out and grabbed them both, and they faded into transparency as Neloth watched.

"Hmph!" he snorted. "I didn't think that would really work. Well, as my old granny would have said, 'The day is never wasted if you've learned something.'"

A thick, green pall lay over the entire landscape; though perhaps 'land' was a term that could only be loosely applied to the area in which Marcus and Azura found themselves. All around them a thick, black goo oozed and gurgled, inches below the filigreed ironwork platform on which they had appeared. Stacks upon stacks of books, mostly ruined, sat everywhere, and somewhere ahead of them, up a short flight of steps, a light floated around, casting a pallid glow on the eerie realm that was Apocrypha.

As the two companions took their bearings, the air above them erupted into a mass of eyes and tentacles, and a sibilant, measured voice spoke to them. Marcus knew this apparition, even before it introduced itself to them.

"I am Hermaeus Mora…" the nightmarish vision thundered. Then the voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Prince of Fate…and Lord of Secrets. This…is…Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded. If you tire of your search…read your Book again…to return to your mortal life…for a time. The lure of Apocrypha… _will_ call you back. It is…your fate. Orrrr…perhaps you are a fool…or a coward. If so, you're in peril. Read your Book again…escape before Apocrypha claims you…forever! Sate your thirst for knowledge…in the endless stacks…of my library. Well…perhaps you will prove clever enough…to uncover the secrets…hidden here. If so…welcome."

"Let's cut to the chase, Mora," Marcus flared. "Where is my wife? What have you done with Tamsyn?"

"Ah, Dragonborn! I knew you would come to my realm. You cannot escape…your fate. You have done…what few others have managed to do. You…are like Miraak…Dragonborn, and thus will prove to be…either a worthy opponent…or his successor."

"I will never become your Champion, Mora," Marcus gritted out. _"Where…is…Tamsyn?"_

"Patience, Dragonborn," Mora cooed. "I have not done with you yet. I have what you seek…what you need…to defeat Miraak. You cannot hope to best him…without the Bend Will Shout. I can teach you that Shout…but only if you agree…to do something for me."

"I don't trust you, demon," Marcus shot back. "I don't trust any of the Daedra. You guys have been nothing but trouble for me."

"My brethren have…abused you, sorely," Mora conceded in a soothing tone. "But what I ask is a small thing…compared to the knowledge you will receive."

"Don't trust him Marcus," Azura whispered.

"I'm not," he murmured. "But we might as well hear him out. I need to find Tamsyn, and soon!"

Azura made a small murmur of compassion, but she remained on her guard.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"We will speak again…" Mora replied, "when you have reached…the end of the Book. Only then will I know…if you are truly worthy."

With that the horrific visage that was the Daedric Prince melted away and Marcus and Azura stood alone on the platform.

"Well that was singularly unenlightening," Azura quipped. "Any idea which way we go?"

"There only seems to be one way," Marcus said, gesturing ahead of them. Far out over the inky waters, writhing with tentacles, a curved bridge moved slowly back and forth, sweeping just above the surface of the Stygian ooze without disturbing it. No wake followed in the passing of the filigreed causeway. Between them, a curled wall barred them from stepping onto the bridge as it passed.

"How do we get the wall down?" Marcus queried. "Have you ever encountered anything like this before?"

"No," Azura said. "I only know what Neloth told me upon his return from _The Hidden Twilight._ He said many of the doors he encountered could only be opened by a scrye."

"What's a scrye?"

"These things here," Azura pointed, indicating a pod-like pedestal with a very delicate, plant-like growth curling up from it. She touched the plant, watching as it withered down and disappeared into the pod, which closed over it with a small _snick_. A quiet tremor was felt as the wall curled down, flattening out and crossed the waters of Apocrypha, falling just inches short of the bridge as it swept around.

"That's great!" Marcus enthused. "Now we just have to figure out which way we need to go from here."

"Should we hop on and find out?" Azura asked.

"I think we have to," Marcus replied. "I can't see very far in this gloom, and I don't know what's on the other side of bridge. We'll have to go along for the ride and see where it takes us."

Stepping onto the moving causeway was no worse than choosing a step on an escalator, Marcus found. It had to be timed just right, or you'd step off into the water with no way to get back up onto the walkway.

"That would be bad," Azura warned him. "Neloth told me that the waters of Apocrypha are toxic. If you fall in, you'll die horribly as it consumes you. He said he knocked a Seeker into it during his visit, and it took several minutes to die, screeching horribly as it did so." She shuddered. "He didn't seem the least bit concerned about it, even though the creature had been trying to kill him."

"Duly noted," Marcus nodded. "What are Seekers?"

Azura spread her hands helplessly. "I'm not sure. Neloth seems to think they're the souls of people who became trapped in Apocrypha while seeking knowledge. From his description, they resemble shambling mounds of rags and tatters with four claw-like arms."

Again, Marcus nodded. "Then I'm pretty sure that's what sent me back to Nirn when I confronted Miraak in _Waking Dreams._ We'll try to avoid them, if we can."

They hopped onto the bridge when it came around and followed it through to the other side, stepping off onto another filigreed platform. Another raised wall or bridge, however, prevented them from proceeding any further. Beyond the wall, through the lacework of iron, Marcus could see another pedestal with a Book resting upon it.

"That's it?" he scowled. "All this way for another Black Book, and no way to get to it?"

"I don't think that's another Black Book," Azura said. "I think it's the next chapter of this one. We have to read that chapter to move forward."

"Then we have to get this wall down somehow," Marcus reasoned. "There has to be another of those scrye things around here somewhere. Maybe even on the other side of the chamber. We'll just have to wait for the bridge to come back."

Several minutes later they had the wall down and they approached the Book on its pedestal. A pod-like protuberance jutted up from the floor. Marcus didn't think anything of it until he bumped it and it opened, revealing its contents.

"Well, now, what have we here?" he grinned. "This thing is like some kind of chest."

"Neloth did say there would be mundane rewards here," Azura reminded him.

"Hey!" Marcus exclaimed. "There's a copy of _The Black Arrow,_ volume two! I already have the first one. I wondered why the story seemed unfinished." He slipped the book into his backpack without opening it. He'd read it later, at home, after he'd refreshed his memory of the first book.

They divided up the gold and gems evenly, and Marcus insisted Azura take a circlet enchanted with Conjuration magic. "I won't ever use it," he told her.

That left the Book on the pedestal.

"Ready?" he asked Azura.

"As I'll ever be," she nodded.

As they did before, when entering Apocrypha, they clasped hands and each took hold of a cover, front and back, and leaned in together to read the next chapter. The world faded around them into greenish-blackness.

* * *

Tamsyn was waiting for Miraak when he returned, a smug smile on his lips.

"I don't even need to ask what you've been up to," she frowned. "You've stolen a dragon soul from my husband, haven't you?"

"Indeed." He wasn't even remorseful.

"That's not going to endear you to him, you realize," Tamsyn scolded.

"I'm not attempting to 'endear' myself to him, as you so charmingly put it," Miraak replied blandly. "My only intent is to get free of Apocrypha. Since your husband has restored the All-Maker Stones, I will need power from another source to effect my escape. And that means dragon souls. Since dragons are in short supply in Apocrypha, and I have no intention of taking the souls of my three here, I must do what I can."

"Marcus hasn't cleansed the Tree Stone," Tamsyn reminded him. "Wouldn't that one be enough?"

"Not by itself," Miraak said, shaking his head. "That's why I needed the others. But your husband has seen fit to put an end to that plan."

"You know, in the game, you _did_ sacrifice your dragons," Tamsyn remarked casually.

"What?"

"I said, in the game—"

"I heard that," Miraak snapped. "What did you mean by it? Why would I have done that?" He threw a glance at the three dragons, Kruziikrel, Relonikiv and Sahrotaar, as they roosted on top of the arches surrounding the Summit. They had been with him the longest, and he had sacrificed much to bring them here to Apocrypha in the first place. Sahrotaar himself was rare; he was one of the last remaining serpentine dragons, if not _the_ last, that Miraak could remember seeing through the past several centuries. Though he was their _thuri_ , and their allegiance had been bought with the Bend Will Shout, they nevertheless served him unquestioningly. Why would he take their souls?

"You were being beaten, in the game," Tamsyn said. "As the player character, the Dragonborn, it was my responsibility and destiny to defeat you. In the playthroughs where I was weaker than you, I died and respawned at my last saving point, to try again. But in the times where I was stronger, you drew upon your dragons' souls to heal yourself and stay in the fight. It was scripted, and you had no choice. In order to win the game, you had to die, but it wasn't by my hand. Hermaeus Mora cheated, once he found – in his own mind – a new Champion to take your place. You were of no further use to him."

Miraak was silent. It had been millennia since he had battled anything stronger than Lurkers and Seekers. Learning the Bend Will Shout from Hermaeus Mora had eliminated much of that conflict. The last, truly intense life-or-death battle he had engaged in had been with Vahlok, just before Mora had spirited him away to Apocrypha. At the time, he had been grateful; Vahlok was stronger than Miraak had anticipated, and he mistaken believed he would merely recuperate in Apocrypha before returning to finish the fight.

But Mora had betrayed him; the first of many small betrayals, in fact. At first the Daedric Prince distracted him with hidden, secret knowledge, explaining it would give him an edge over Vahlok. Then, with the temptation to learn _thu'ums_ unknown to the Dragon Priests. Mora convinced him he would be able to go up against Alduin himself. What he hadn't counted on was how long it would take to master the new _rotmulags._ While he labored in Apocrypha, time passed in Nirn, but the separation of the realms kept him from feeling the pull of age. Before he knew it, Alduin had been banished, the Dragon Priests' time had come to an end, and the dragons had hidden themselves away to await the return of their _thuri –_ those who hadn't died in the ensuing Dragon War, that was. The Akaviri had been systematic and thorough, but even their time in Nirn passed, and the ages tumbled one after the other while Miraak languished in Hermaeus Mora's realm.

On rare occasions, Mora would send him to Nirn to put a word in someone's ear, to plant one of the Black Books in a location where it could not fail to be found, to set someone on a path that could only lead them to Apocrypha, there to be the plaything of an amoral, manipulative Daedra. It was only on these excursions that Miraak felt any measure of freedom, and he sought to break the ties that bound him to his dread lord. But for reasons of his own, Hermaeus Mora had no intention of letting his Champion go so easily. The portal through which he passed only permitted his consciousness to return to Nirn; his body remained in Apocrypha, much in the same way that the Arch-Mage was here in Oblivion in spirit, while her body remained in Mundus.

Bitter and angry at having been taken for a fool, Miraak began plotting his escape. But the Daedric Prince of Secret Knowledge knew all too well what his former Champion was up to, and Miraak spent nearly the entire Second Age in the dark, isolated and alone. Why Mora hadn't outright killed him was a mystery he never fathomed. Now he understood: all that he had read in his time here had pointed to an Imperial of unknown origins known only as 'Marcus of Whiterun' as the Last Dragonborn. Miraak had assumed it simply meant that the gift of dragon blood and dragon soul, which had come from Akatosh Himself, would no longer be needed in the current _kalpa._ It went deeper than that. As Mora's new Champion, the Last Dragonborn would have the favor of a Daedric Prince, should he choose to accept it. And even if he didn't, he would be far easier to manipulate than someone who had been with the Daedra for millennia, and was wise to his machinations. Mora would pit the two of them against each other. If Marcus won, Miraak would die; if Miraak succeeded in getting the upper hand, Mora would step in and kill him, and the Last Dragonborn would become the new Champion of the Daedric Prince, and would be – like Miraak before him – lost to the blessing of Akatosh.

Time meant nothing to the Daedra, and Hermaeus Mora had had all the time in eternity to wait for this moment.

"It was just a game," he dismissed now, unwilling to accept that this would be his fate. "It has no bearing on reality."

"Perhaps," Tamsyn nodded quietly. "Or perhaps it was a foretelling of what may happen here. So far, since I've come to Nirn, events have unfolded fairly close to the way they did in the game. To be fair, there have been some deviations, but that's to be expected when you're dealing with real people, who have real thoughts and feelings, who take real actions, and not blindly follow a script."

She rose gracefully and crossed the chamber to stand in front of the First Dragonborn, the top of her head reaching only to his collarbone. "You are a living, breathing, _real_ person, Miraak. You don't have to follow the plan Hermaeus Mora has laid out for you. You – unlike your counterpart in the game – have real choices. Mora _wants_ you to fight Marcus. So don't do it."

"Then he will kill me anyway, as he does in your game," Miraak said sourly. "I would far rather go down fighting."

"He will have to get through me first," Tamsyn said stubbornly. "I might only be half-Aedra, but I've got some rather powerful spells I rarely use, simply because the after-effects would be devastating in Nirn."

"Such as?" The corner of Miraak's mouth quirked in spite of himself, and one finely arched eyebrow lifted in challenge.

"Ever hear of a spell called _Fingers of the Mountain?_ " Tamsyn smirked.

Miraak threw back his head and laughed, loud and long.

"I have, actually," he grinned, when he had recovered. "You do realize that that particular spell can drain your magicka to the point of death, don't you?"

"For anyone not half-Aedra, yes," Tamsyn allowed. "A good friend of mine, a Snow Elf named Sylfaen Telperion, taught it to me. She warned me how powerful it was. I didn't believe her until I cast it – and I only did that once."

"And?"

Tamsyn gave a rueful smile. "I think the woods on that mountain are still burning."

Miraak chuckled again before sobering. "Even if I declared my intent not to fight your husband," he continued, still brooding, "that doesn't mean your husband won't fight _me_. As far as he knows, I'm the cause of the strife with the Skaal. And I _have_ been stealing dragon souls from him." This last was said with a sly look.

"So stop doing that, for starters," Tamsyn scowled. "Look, I'm actually trying to help you here. I hated how the game railroaded me into decisions I would rather not have made, and how some quests had only one conclusion. Well, I'm not playing a game now. This is real, and it's for keeps. I will fight with you against Hermaeus Mora. I found the White Book we were looking for, so we can leave any time you're ready. The sooner the better, really. I'm feeling like I've been stretched very thin."

Miraak hesitated, keenly aware of the piece of parchment inside his tunic. The spell would get them both out of Apocrypha, and take them to Aetherius, where only one of them would be able to leave. But behind the Arch-Mage's coppery curls, framed on one side with a lock of starkest white, he saw his three _dovah_ watching and studying him. The spell wouldn't help them escape. They would be left behind. Kruziikrel and Relonikiv had been more sluggish than usual of late. They were the first two dragons he had managed to bring to Apocrypha, nearly an age before he had found Sahrotaar and brought him here as well. It was possible their time in this hellish realm was finally sapping their being, though they rallied swiftly enough when he needed them to do something. The ritual that had brought them here had been complicated and had exhausted his magicka nearly to the breaking point, much in the way _Fingers of the Mountain_ was said to do.

Sahrotaar, perhaps because of his serpentine nature, was much harder to subdue with the Bend Will Shout, and his loyalty, though unquestioned, was always a matter of having no other options while in this horrific place.

Now he saw the sinuous _dovah_ eyeing him steadily. How easy it would be to leave the three of them behind and return to Nirn, body and soul. Could he do that? Could he betray the three who had been his closest and only companions through all of pre-history and the last four eras? Was he even strong enough now to perform the ritual again and give them a chance to escape? He owed it to them to try.

"I am not quite ready to leave," Miraak told Tamsyn now. "I have some preparations to make."

Clearly unhappy, but unwilling to argue if it meant his cooperation, Tamsyn nodded and returned to the cot where she lay down, pretending to rest.

There was a sudden, leathery _snap_ of wings, and Sahrotaar launched himself into the air, piercing the barrier that allowed him pass through unharmed while keeping Hermaeus Mora out.

"Sahrotaar!" Miraak called, but the dragon was already gone, vanished in the gloom beyond. He wasn't overly concerned. There were few enough places a dragon of his size could go in Apocrypha, and several places he knew the _dovah_ wouldn't go, due to risk of life and limb. It concerned him, however, to know _why_ Sahrotaar had taken off like that. He didn't pretend to know what the ancient serpentine was thinking or feeling, but it seemed completely out of character for him.

No matter. He hadn't lied to the Arch-Mage. He had preparations to make to send the three _dovah_ back to Nirn, and that would take some time. The Arch-Mage's comment about feeling "stretched too thin" was an indication that her humanity was slowly being eked away by Mora's realm. In a short time, if she couldn't return to Mundus by any other method, she would lose her mortality completely and be trapped here as a full-fledged Aedra, much like _The Forbidden Fruit_ – part of Aetherius, but swallowed whole by Apocrypha.

Miraak pondered the unaccountable twinge of guilt he felt at that thought.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up, Marcus and Azura do some binge-exploring of the Black Books; Marcus gets another note from Ralis; and Neloth has a lead on one of the last two Black Books they need to find. Tamsyn and Miraak team up to get at least two of the dragons out of Apocrypha, but where in Oblivion has Sahrotaar gone? Next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it written. Thanks again for all the support!]_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The tunnel stretched before Marcus and Azura, a nearly endless latticework of iron, with the ever-present black ichor of Apocrypha gurgling beneath their feet. Sheaves of loose paper whirled and swirled in a continuous cyclone of parchment down the length of the tunnel.

"This doesn't seem so bad," Azura remarked.

"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "About the worst we might expect from this is a bad case of paper cuts. Let's see where this leads."

The tunnel ended after perhaps a hundred yards or so, with another scrye, open and waiting for them. Azura touched it, and as it retreated into its pod, the latticework suddenly opened from above, down the length of the tunnel, like flower petals greeting the day.

Except there was no sun, only the greenish haze of Oblivion, and the denizens who inhabited this place.

"Unfriendlies!" Marcus warned, spotting the Lurker to the right and immediately rushing to close with it. Dodging the vomit of black tentacles it spewed at him, he laid into it with Dragonbane in one hand and electricity in the other.

"Seekers over here!" Azura called out, and brought up her ward, while shooting off a shock spell of her own at the closest one. It had little effect on the minion of Hermaeus Mora.

Both Seekers immediately sent off a blast of percussion that would have seriously weakened the Bosmer mage if she hadn't put her ward up in time.

 _I might be in trouble here!_ she thought as the two Seekers attempted to flank her. But Marcus was busy with the Lurker – at least, that's what Neloth had called the creature that fit the description – and she didn't want to distract him.

 _Are you a mage or aren't you?_ Azura demanded of herself. The shock spell didn't seem to do much damage at all, so she switched to frost. Icy Spears flew across the intervening space and lodged in the body of the nearer of the two Seekers. It staggered a little from the impact, but continued attempting to get around her. Azura backed up until she was almost up against the side wall of the chamber. Being a large, rectangular area, there was no place to hide or take cover.

Frustrated, Azura summoned a Frost Atronach and sent it against the Seeker further away from her, hoping to buy time to deal with the closer one. They were identical, and it was impossible to tell them apart.

Suddenly her opponent shivered, and where one had been before, now there were two. Both lobbed percussion drains at her, and it was all she could do to keep her ward intact. She thought of the spell she had used in the Bloodskal Barrow, to take out the Seeker the Dragon Priest lich, Zakriisos, had summoned. But that had been only one Seeker, not two, and she had had a place to hide from its attacks.

 _I don't have a choice,_ she thought desperately. Throwing caution to the wind, Azura cast the strongest mage armor spell she knew, Ebonyflesh, for added protection while she prepared to cast Blizzard. She felt the drain on her magicka reserves and kept her ward up while she rummaged in her side pouch for the potion she kept there in reserve: a potion of Ultimate Magicka, which would completely restore her reserves. It was rare when she found one, and rarer still when she had occasion to use it, but now seemed as good a time as any.

She pulled it out, and stared at it in dismay. It wasn't the familiar blue bottle. It was brown.

 _Ashes and soot!_ she grumbled to herself. _This isn't the one I want!_ It would have to do, however, because the Seekers were closing in, and her Atronach had winked out. This was a potion to boost her Destruction spells, but she couldn't remember how strong it was. She pulled the cork with her teeth and spit it out, downing the contents of the bottle while somehow managing to keep her ward going.

The sharp, earthy tang of the liquid slid down her throat, and the dry aftertaste almost made her choke, but immediately Azura could feel her magicka powering up – at least, the magicka she intended to use for Destruction. Dropping the ward, she concentrated on the Master-level frost spell, studiously ignoring the attacks of all three – make that _four –_ Seekers.

The Lurker Marcus was fighting – though he didn't know that was what it was called – attempted to pummel him through the latticework as if straining him through a sieve. When it wasn't slamming him with mattock-like fists, it was attempting to stomp on him with its huge feet. When Marcus successfully dodged those attacks, it launched a stream of acid-like vomit at him which writhed with tentacles that snapped and slapped at him.

This one was clearly not female, and Marcus shuddered inwardly, distracted by the notion of two of these creatures having sex to spawn another generation of horrors.

The distraction cost him, and the creature smashed into his right hand, causing him to fumble his grip on Dragonbane. At the same time, the other fist smashed into his head, and for a moment, Marcus saw stars. Only his dragonplate helmet saved his head from being reduced to a bloody pulp. Down on his knees, he shook his head to clear it, trying to focus his blurring vision enough to see where Dragonbane had ended up. In the gloomy pall of Apocrypha, it was nearly impossible to see very far.

Now he was weaponless, and scrambled out of the way of the trunk-like foot that crashed down right where his head had been moments before. Rolling to his feet he shot off a firebolt from one hand and a lightning bolt from the other. The fire spell seemed to do a little better than the shock, but in either case it hardly seemed to affect the creature at all.

Marcus scrambled out of the way of another stream of vomit and tumbled around behind his opponent. Feeling he had nothing to lose, he launched a flurry of martial attacks, hoping to pinpoint some weakness on the behemoth's body, but all he succeeded in doing was corrode his gauntlets.

 _Well,_ that's _not good!_ he thought sourly. _Where is my sword?_

The mattock-like fist swung at him again, and Marcus barely avoided taking a direct hit by bending backwards and tumbling once more out of the way. Something _thumped_ against his hip and he spared a heartbeat to glance down, seeing the ebony mace hanging in a jury-rigged holster on his left side.

 _I've got nothing to lose by trying,_ he thought. _Even if I'm not that proficient with a mace._

The temperature suddenly plummeted, and a blast of ice and snow _whooshed_ out in all directions from Azura. Marcus spared another glance, as the Lurker seemed to stagger a little. Snowflakes began to fall, for probably the first time in the history of Apocrypha, and the Seekers slowed down to a standstill, turning an unhealthy shade of blue-green.

 _Holy crap! There's FOUR of them?_ Marcus realized. He'd been so busy fighting the big guy he hadn't noticed the odds Azura had had to face.

But he had no more time to think about it, as the creature was on him, spewing out its tentacled attack and preparing to stomp on him once more.

Unable to dodge the vomit this time, Marcus turned his head to avoid getting it in his eyes, then ignored the burn as he slipped past its guard and smashed into its rib cage with the spiked cudgel.

A shriek like nothing he had ever heard before went up from the scaly horror, eclipsing the growling noises it had made before. A shudder ran through it, and before Marcus' eyes, the behemoth seemed to dissolve into a black mist, still shrieking, before fading away entirely.

Stunned, he stood there.

"What the hell just happened?" he wondered aloud.

"You know what they say about gift horses, Marcus!" Azura gasped, her magicka completely spent. Two of the Seekers winked out from the effects of her spell, but the other two were still very much a threat. "I could use a little help here!"

"Yeah! Sorry!" he called, and leaped across the chamber to land a solid hit on the Seeker closest to him. As the huge, tentacle-spewing creature had done before it, it shrieked and shuddered, evaporating into mist, and then nothing. The remaining Seeker also vanished, though he hadn't touched it.

"I like this mace!" he grinned. His breath hung in frosty crystals in the air. "And that was some kind of spell you did there, Azura," he complimented her. "You used that in the Bloodskal Barrow, didn't you?"

She nodded wearily. "It's called 'Blizzard,'" she explained, "and it's a Master-level Destruction spell. It…takes a lot out of me."

Marcus was immediately solicitous. "Do you need to stop and rest?" he asked kindly.

"Please, and thank you," she replied. "I'm completely out of magicka. I have a potion to restore it all at once, but I keep putting off using it, thinking I need to save it for a critical time."

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, I do the same thing. I have a chest full of potions I've never used at home. I either forget to take them with me, or never use them when I do."

They sat down gingerly next to the Book they'd found at the far end of the chamber, which led to the next Chapter. Marcus fired off a Candlelight spell after Azura was settled and searched the area until he found Dragonbane. It was unharmed, sticking handle-upright between the crevices of the filigree-work beneath his feet, about fifty feet from where he'd fought the creature. "A Lurker," Azura told him, when he asked if it had a name. "At least, that's what Neloth called it."

"Tell me about your home, Marcus, while we rest," Azura prompted as he sat down next to her. "I've been traveling with you for over a week now, and I still know very little about you."

They talked while they rested, and Marcus told her of his homes in Whiterun, Markarth, Solitude and the Pale.

"I even had a home in Riften," he added, "but I gave that to my older son, Blaise, when he moved out to apprentice to Balimund there."

"And now you have one here in Solstheim, in Raven Rock," Azura nodded. "Why do you have so many homes? Are you that rich?"

Marcus grimaced. "Not that you could tell from my coin purse," he grumbled. "Especially when people like Ralis Sedarys soak me for several hundred at a time."

"You could have said 'no,' you know," she reminded him piously.

"I know," he admitted ruefully. "But I _know_ there's a Word Wall down there now. I'm contractually obligated now as the Dragonborn to seek it out."

Azura giggled. "Why? Will they throw you out of the Dragonborn's Guild if you don't?"

"I'm not taking that chance," he grinned back. "I've been a card-carrying member now for four years. I'm not about to throw all that away."

He shifted position and the mace bumped against him.

"Pretty cool mace, though, eh?" he smirked. "Who knew it could do that with one hit?"

"Yes," Azura mused, her eyes narrowing. "I wonder…"

"What?"

"May I take a closer look at it?" she asked.

"Of course." Marcus slid the mace from the holster and handed it to her. As before, with the Boots of Waterwalking they had found in Kolbjorn, she made several passes over the mace with her hand, magicka radiating from it.

"Wow," she murmured at last. "This is one powerful weapon!"

"Oh yeah?" Marcus said, raising an eyebrow. "You can tell that from passing magic over it?"

She gave him a sour look. "It's a form of magical detection," she said loftily. "It tells me what kind of enchantments have been placed on an object, how many there are, and how powerful they may be. This one kind of goes off the scale."

Marcus gave a low whistle. "I'm glad we brought it along then. Neloth seemed to think I'd find it useful."

"It's certainly proved to be," Azura said casually, but she grew thoughtful, staring at the mace as she handed it back to Marcus. Whatever she was thinking, however, she said nothing other than to announce she was ready to continue on. They got to their feet and stepped in front of the Book.

"How will we know when we get to the end of this thing?" Marcus wondered.

Azura shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we just keep going until we run out of enemies."

"We'll be here until the crack of Doom, then," Marcus said, his mouth twisting in a wry smile.

Azura chuckled. "I'm surprised Hermaeus Mora hasn't thrown all of Apocrypha at us by now."

"He's testing us," Marcus reminded her. "He wants to find out if we're worthy enough to become his Champion."

"I thought Miraak was his Champion," Azura remarked.

"I'm thinking there may be an opening soon for the position," Marcus muttered. "Compassion for one's subjects doesn't seem to be a strong suit for the Daedra." He remembered how callously Clavicus Vile had disregarded his worshippers who had begged for a cure for their vampirism. How long had they suffered before Marcus had arrived, unwittingly killing them all in defense of his own life? He shuddered inwardly remembering his time as the plaything of Hircine, and bristled when he thought of the Daedric Prince Azura casting off Aranea Ienith, her loyal Priestess, when the Dunmer woman was of no further use to her. Even Meridia, though she had no followers, treated him with the same superior attitude while he remained in possession of her Beacon. Not a day had gone by without her imperiously reminding him to return it to her Temple.

"Are we ready for Chapter Three, then?" Azura asked him.

"As we'll ever be," Marcus nodded. They took hold of the Book simultaneously and leaned in to read it together.

They found themselves on a large, round platform made of stone and iron filigree, littered with papers that blew in the wind. All around them, surrounding the immediate area, were stone arches, cracked and weathered, sunken in a mire of the ubiquitous ichor that stretched ahead of them. To their left, another stone balcony joined to theirs by a lattice-work iron grating, and further ahead steep stone steps led the way upwards to several other balconies. A pillar of stone rose from the platform to their left, surmounted by ragged banners which snapped and cracked in the breeze. Eerie glyphs of Daedric origin faded and glowed on the banners which bore the image of a figure of eyes and tentacles. A whirlwind of tattered papers swirled above the pillar.

Two other filigree walkways closed the gap between this platform and the next, where the stairs began.

Marcus dropped to a crouch immediately, and Azura followed suit when he pointed to a shimmering in the air at the top of the stairs. Experience told them both that another Seeker was in the area.

Prepared this time, the fight was brief, and Azura replenished her magicka at a font to the left of the stairs. The stone steps carried them up several platforms, past twisting stacks of books that resembled spinal columns. Occasionally, books fell from these stacks, only to float back up again moments later.

Two more Seekers attacked from a platform lower than theirs, and Marcus found it was easier to jump down to confront them rather than take the long way around to the stairs, which were so steep as to be invisible when viewed from above. Between the Dragonborn and the Bosmer mage, the fight didn't last long, though Marcus noted that the mace didn't automatically kill with every hit.

"It might have something to do with how hard you hit," Azura mused, when all was quiet once more.

Marcus nodded. "Or maybe it needs to be fully charged to do that," he added. "I don't like using soul gems, but I can't deny they're useful."

"What do you have against soul gems?" Azura wondered.

Marcus hesitated. "I don't like that innocent people get trapped in them when they die," he finally told her. "I met several souls in the Soul Cairn who didn't deserve to be there, but they ended up in that horrible place when the gem they'd been trapped in was used to recharge weapons, or enchant items."

Azura's face went pale beneath her paint. "I never knew that!" she murmured, troubled. "But without soul gems, how can we do any enchanting, or recharge staves and weapons?"

"I don't know," Marcus said honestly. "I'm no mage. All I know for certain is that I'd have to be darn sure the person I was soul-trapping deserved that kind of fate before I would ever cast that spell, or use a weapon that had that enchantment on it."

His companion said nothing, but the Bosmer's dark brown eyes were pensive, and refused to meet his.

They found a scrye which opened the lacework iron flower on the platform and revealed another treasure chest pod. Marcus added a few more books to his backpack.

"Am I going to be able to bring these back with me?" he wondered aloud. "I mean, if it's only our minds here, and not our bodies, will we be able to bring anything back?"

"That's a good question," Azura said. "I guess we'll find out when we get to the end of the Book."

At the very top of the steepest flight of steps, a swinging bridge meandered back and forth between their platform and one other.

The Lurker that loomed up in front of them was swiftly immobilized by Azura's paralysis spell, and Marcus made short work of it with Dragonbane. If the mace needed full power to inflict a critical kill, he preferred to hold it in reserve for a time when he truly needed it.

They waited for the bridge to return and hopped nimbly on, allowing it to convey them to the other platform before proceeding any further down its length. The pod chest on this platform was snugged between two stone tables, and Azura squealed when she saw a book with the Conjuration sigil on its cover.

"I'll take this, if you don't mind," she declared. "I don't know what it is, but I want it!" She giggled.

"It's all yours," Marcus grinned. "I recognize the sign for Conjuration. It's not something I use a lot." He turned his attention to the other book lying on the table. _Fire and Darkness_ , it was titled, and Marcus found it to be an interesting discourse on the history of the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood. He packed it away after leafing through it, and could already tell there were tips in its pages that would help him become a better fighter. He'd have to read it thoroughly as soon as he had the time.

They hopped back onto the bridge when it swung past, and this time followed it to the end, fighting Lurkers and Seekers along the way. They had to activate another scrye along the way, to open a gate that led to a corridor dotted here and there with pools of ichor from which slimy black tentacles snapped and cracked at them. Seekers and Lurkers were here, as well, and it was an exhausted duo that finally reached the Book that signaled Chapter Four.

Marcus and Azura looked at each other and sighed. Nodding as one, they grabbed the covers and leaned in together.

The platform on which they found themselves contained a larger pool of ichor, with both a pod chest and a scrye flanking one section of lattice-work wall. Marcus fiddled with the lock on the chest and got it open while Azura activated the scrye to lower the wall. They emptied the chest of its contents and turned to cross the walkway to the flower-platform beyond. Resting on a pedestal was the final end of the Book.

As they approached, however, Hermaeus Mora morphed into view.

"Dragonborn!" he purred. "You have come…into my realm…seeking knowledge to defeat…Miraak."

"I came here seeking my wife, Mora," Marcus growled. "Miraak is an annoyance I'll have to deal with, but I want Tamsyn back, safe and unharmed, right now!"

"Patience, Dragonborn…" Mora drawled. "You will see your wife…again…when you have done…what I ask."

Inwardly, Marcus gritted his teeth. Pissing off a Daedric Prince, especially when his wife was still in said Prince's clutches, would not be the ideal way to handle the situation.

"You haven't told me what it is you want, Mora," Marcus said with some irritation. "Let's cut to the chase."

"The Skaal…have withheld their secrets from me…for far too long," the tentacled tyrant murmured, several eyes blinking slowly at once. "Convince them...to reveal them to me…and I shall allow you…to seek for your wife unhindered."

"I don't trust you, demon," Marcus dismissed. "What's to prevent you from reneging on your deal, or changing it without warning?"

"If you have…so little faith in me," Mora replied, in a tone that suggested he would shrug if there was a way his amorphous form could have done so, "I will give you a gift…in good faith: you may choose…one power…exclusive to Dragonborn."

Three glowing orbs rose from the Book on the pedestal.

"The first…is Dragonborn Force," the Daedric Prince explained. "Choose this…and your _thu'um_ of Unrelenting Force will be…magnified…enhanced…and much more powerful. Your enemies…may even be…disintegrated."

"Oh, my goodness!" Azura breathed.

"The second power…is Dragonborn Flame," Mora said. "When you kill your enemies…with your Flame Breath…a fire wyrm emerges…from their corpse to fight for you."

"Holy shit!" Marcus muttered.

"The last power," Mora went on, undisturbed, "is Dragonborn Frost. Use this with your Frost Breath…and your enemies…will be encased in…ice."

"I think I need some air," Azura said faintly. "What a horrible way to die!"

"You may decide…at some future time…to change your choice," the Prince said magnanimously. "If so read your Black Book again…and you will return to this place…to make another choice. Now…choose one," Mora insisted. "Then…return to the Skaal. Convince them…to give up their secrets…to me. When you do…I will give you…the second Word…of the Bend Will Shout."

"What if they don't want to," Marcus countered, his mind still reeling from the power of the orbs before him.

"If you wish…to see your wife again…you will find a way…Dragonborn." With that the Daedric Prince faded from view, and Marcus and Azura were left alone with the Book.

"What are you going to choose?" Azura whispered nervously. Though she had already seen Marcus use his Shouts, the thought of this much power being contained in one person was more than a little frightening. She trusted Marcus, but wondered if Miraak also had these 'gifts.'

"I'm tempted not to choose any of them, just to spite Mora," Marcus scowled. "But it doesn't look like we're going to get out of here unless I do."

"I'll bet Miraak knows them," Azura muttered, her mind still troubled by that thought.

That decided Marcus. If choosing one of these powers meant getting an edge on Miraak, he would accept the responsibility that came with it. He already had studied the _rotmulag_ with Paarthurnax, and had gained a deeper understanding of _fus._ His Ice Form Shout could already encase his enemies in ice, though he seldom used it. He chose Dragonborn Flame. Having a fire wyrm show up to assist in a pitched battle – especially against draugr, or the Thalmor – could be useful.

The glowing orbs disappeared, and the squirming, crawling Daedric letters beckoned them to read and return to Nirn. Marcus felt somewhat used, and let down. Tamsyn hadn't been hidden in _Epistolary Acumen,_ and now he was more deeply embroiled in the machinations of yet another Daedric Prince. This was only the first Book. There were six more to go. He didn't want to be Mora's Champion, but it seemed to be unavoidable. Marcus gave an inward sigh as he and Azura grasped the covers of the Book together and returned to Nirn. Akatosh had advised him to take care of Miraak, and it seemed this was the path to take to get to him, but at what cost?

He felt he was between the Devil and the deep blue sea, and it was all he could do to keep his head above water.

* * *

Miraak had spent much time and energy bringing his three dragons to Apocrypha. Now, it was time to send them back. He could not send all three at once, as he might have wished. That would leave him too weak to maintain the barrier that kept Hermaeus Mora away from the Summit. No; he would have to send them one at a time.

He considered enlisting the Arch Mage's help. She was already losing some of her mortality by remaining in the Daedric Prince's realm – the Aedra were vulnerable without their connection to Aetherius and Nirn. However, if he used her power now to send the dragons back, she might not have enough remaining to get them both to the realm of the gods. Miraak had noticed that Tamsyn seemed to rally for a while after each time spent in _The Forbidden Fruit,_ but it was a temporary reprieve. She needed to return to Nirn soon, or she would no longer be able to do so. The thought bothered him, and he didn't want to explore too deeply exactly why.

The ages had taken their toll even on Miraak himself, though it was not just his mind trapped here in Hermaeus Mora's realm. His physical body was here as well, and though he had fallen out of favor with his former master, he had learned enough from the Prince to know how to keep himself alive. Ancient secrets lost to time were here, hidden until he had discovered them. He had slowed his body's metabolism to the barest minimum, aging only one year for every thousand he had spent in Apocrypha. He had been able to conjure food from nothing, to sustain himself, and had transported mundane items from Nirn into the Daedric realm for his own creature comforts.

Had he not been Mora's Champion in the early days, he might have ended up a Seeker, as so many unwary travelers had been before him, and since. That fate might yet be Tamsyn's, once her mortal body expired in Nirn.

Miraak scowled without realizing it. It was a horrible way to exist – worse than dying. Deep inside every Seeker was the knowledge they had once been a living, breathing human or mer or beast race. They had had autonomy once, had been able to think and reason and explore independent of Mora's influence. The Daedric Prince knew full well the lure of his realm – indeed, he exploited it. Secret, forbidden, hidden knowledge was something every scholar lusted after, and would willingly go to great lengths to acquire. None of them realized the ultimate price they would pay for their ambition.

He glanced over at the sleeping form of the Arch-Mage. Though in point of fact it was only her mind here, and not her body, rest was something that was needed on every level, both mental and physical, and Tamsyn seemed to become tired more easily lately. Yes, it was definitely time to return to Nirn, before his last chance slipped away.

 _And what then?_

The thought came unbidden to him. What would he do in Nirn, once he returned? His original plan had been to reclaim the territories that had been his while he still lived in Tamriel. But his conversations with Tamsyn were forcing him to reconsider his options. While he had no doubt he could enthrall the Dunmer of Solstheim, he would still have the Skaal to fight, and they would be harder to enslave without the sacred stones under his control. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that it was very clever of the Last Dragonborn to set about freeing them of his influence. While Mora might have an axe to grind against the Skaal, Miraak was indifferent on the matter. They would have been useful chattel in his return to power, but they were only a small portion of the population of Solstheim.

Miraak preferred ruling through power, rather than through fear, but from the information Tamsyn had divulged, most of the people of Tamriel had forgotten who he was, and would be more likely to fear the Thalmor than a Dragonborn who – in their eyes – had come back from the dead.

 _Ah yes, the Thalmor_. Miraak had read about them, of course. Every book that had ever existed found its way eventually into Apocrypha. They would be the biggest thorn in his side should he find a way to return. The Altmer lived for centuries, and would certainly never permit a sharing of power. Already, the Arch-Mage told him, they had succeeded in hiding away spells and enchantments that were common knowledge in Miraak's time, and had spent the last two hundred years or so hiding away powerful artifacts, keeping them out of the hands of anyone who might use such items against them. The _Fingers of the Mountain_ spell that Tamsyn had mentioned was only a small example of their efforts.

"It would be highly amusing to take them down several notches," he chuckled to himself. "To show them what _true_ power is." He knew that Tamsyn's husband, called "Marcus of Whiterun," had had run-ins with the Thalmor in the recent past. The Last Dragonborn, however, was but a pale shadow of Miraak himself. The young Imperial had not the centuries of research and experimentation that he himself had had. If he threw his lot in with young Marcus and his demi-goddess wife, how would that tip the scales?

 _And what would the Last Dragonborn think of that?_ he mused. He knew all too well that Marcus of Whiterun was the "Last Dragonborn" for a reason: the gift bestowed upon him by Akatosh Himself was only ever given when a danger greater than all others threatened Nirn itself. Alduin had been one of those threats; perhaps in his own way, the vampire Lord had been another. In ages past, heroes had risen many times to overcome the evils that could consume the world. Not all were Dragonborn, but the individuals who rose to the challenges certainly seemed to be favored by the gods.

"I am not evil," Miraak frowned inwardly, but he couldn't convince himself it was true. He had done horrible things in his bid for power. He had participated in wholesale sacrifices of entire villages to his dragon lord. He had never lied, or betrayed promises, but he _had_ manipulated his fellow Dragon Priests in order to rise in the ranks and take their place. He had used and abused innocents for the purpose of gaining wealth and power. He had turned a blind eye to the cruelty that was the Dragon Priesthood, and the dragons themselves.

"I defied them," he insisted to himself. "I rebelled. I sought for ways to help the people I hurt, to defeat the dragons, to defeat Alduin himself."

 _Was that for their benefit, or yours?_

For that, Miraak had no answer. He didn't trust himself not to lie to himself. In his efforts to acquire knowledge the Priesthood either didn't have, or wasn't willing to share with him, he had turned to the Daedra, who were more than willing to interfere in Mundus and meddle in mortal affairs, as long as that mortal was willing to sell himself to them, body and soul. That had led to his pact with Hermaeus Mora.

In fact, it had been Mora who had revealed to him that he was Dragonborn, and what that would mean to him. Mora had gifted him with the knowledge of his first _thu'um,_ and had guided him towards places where he could find others.

Tamsyn shifted and sighed in her sleep, but did not awaken, and Miraak studied her again. So young, and yet so wise beyond her years. She would never know, because he would never tell her, that her assessment of him was not very far off the mark. He had rebelled against the Dragon Cult and the dragons themselves, and he had been horrified at the things he had been forced to do, merely to save his own skin. He had not liked the man he had become, but had seen no way out, until Hermaeus Mora came to him and revealed that he was Dragonborn – the first Dragonborn gifted by Akatosh with the blood and soul of a dragon in mortal form.

He had tried to study what that meant, but there was little known at that time about the Covenant between the Dragon God of Time and the slave girl who became a Queen, the one known as Alessia. Impatient and irritated, he fumed at being given the gift with no idea how to use it. Why had not Akatosh come to him to explain what he had become? He hadn't wanted anyone to hold his hand through it all, but a little divine help wouldn't have hurt.

In truth, however, Miraak knew the answer: Akatosh had not contacted him because Miraak was not a follower of the Chief of the Eight Divines, a pantheon the Dragon Cult did not acknowledge. The Dragons were their only gods. It was ironic, really. The dragons owed their very existence to Auri-El, yet the Priests refused to accept him as superior to Alduin. Much of that was of the Firstborn's own devising.

As he began to learn the _thu'ums_ – again, with Hermaeus Mora's help – Miraak realized quickly that only the top echelon of High Priests used them in the rituals, and only for the glory of the dragons they served, with Alduin being _Thuri_ above them all. At most they knew a handful of Shouts, and it had taken some of them years to learn them. Training began for a select few when they had proved their worth to the Temple. Miraak had not been chosen.

Knowing it was death to use the _thu'um_ unless one wore a mask, Miraak had hidden what he had learned. In a few short months, he had already learned more Shouts than all the High Priests in the Temple combined. But they required the soul of a dragon to unlock their deepest meanings, to be able to use them in combat, and that meant killing the _dovah_ he served.

It terrified him at first, absorbing the soul of his slain opponent. In the exhilarating rush of knowledge that infused him, he understood for the first time that dragons were both mortal and immortal; they lived forever, unless they were slain. And if they were slain, their _Thuri_ Alduin would bring them back to life – until Miraak took their souls.

The repercussions were felt throughout the Priesthood. For a long time, no one knew who had been slaying the lesser dragons, the ones with no names. Mora had given him the mask to hide his identity. It was a mockery of the masks the Hierarchs of the Priesthood wore, and Miraak kept it well hidden while he remained in the Temple to stay informed.

It was Vahlok who betrayed him. The older priest caught him returning to the Temple in the darkest hour of the night. He had slain another dragon, and this time it was not some unnamed, lesser frost or blood dragon. It was Sahqoviing, an underling who served directly under Lord Ahbiilok, and was the immediate superior to the Arch-Priest himself. It had been a long, perilous battle with the firedrake, and Miraak had not escaped unscathed. While he knew enough Restoration to heal his wounds, he could not hide the fact that his robes were scorched and torn. Vahlok called for the guards to hold him while he searched Miraak, and found the mask.

"I knew it!" Vahlok growled. "I knew it was you who betrayed us! We found the bones and scales you hid in a barrel in the cellar. Sacrilege! And _this!"_ He shook the mask in Miraak's face. "This proves it!"

Miraak said nothing, but glared at the older man.

"Why, Miraak?" Vahlok demanded. "You had everything! Solstheim was yours. An entire Temple devoted to Lord Ahbiilok, with innumerable under-priests to do your bidding, and an entire population from which to pull your sacrifices. Why throw that all away?"

"Because we were wrong, Vahlok," Miraak snarled. "Killing our own people – sacrificing them in the most horrible ways just so the dragons wouldn't destroy _us –_ it's _wrong!_ The dragons lied to us! They are _not_ immortal; they _can_ be killed!"

"Blasphemy!" Vahlok thundered.

"It is _not_ blasphemy, Vahlok!" Miraak snapped. "It is the truth. You know it is. You've seen the skeletons of the dragons I have killed."

"You are condemned out of your own mouth, Miraak," Vahlok intoned, his face tight with fury. "Lord Ahbiilok is coming here today to personally oversee your execution as you are stripped and sacrificed to him on the altar. Repent now, turn from this dark path you tread, and I will personally assure that your death will be swift."

Miraak actually laughed at that. "Repent? And get sacrificed anyway? Do you take me for a fool, Vahlok?"

Without waiting for a reply, Miraak Shouted with a new _thu'um_ Hermaeus Mora had helped him to acquire – a Shout to bend the minds and wills of others.

" _GOL HAH!"_ he thundered, and those around him reeled.

"Release me," he ordered them calmly. He saw the panic flare in Vahlok's eyes as the guards did just that. "I'll take that," he smirked at the older man as he plucked his mask back from the Priest's unresisting fingers.

Unhurried, he walked to the door. He would leave everything behind here. There was nothing he wished to take with him. He would cut his ties to the Dragon Cult completely. His new Temple awaited him in Solstheim, and it was a magnificent stronghold he felt sure would be able to withstand whatever forces Vahlok would send after him.

"Do not follow me," he ordered them as an afterthought.

Thinking back on it now, Miraak cringed. He couldn't believe he had been so naïve as to think the command would last forever.

He had barely consolidated his resources before Vahlok's armies were on the move. Miraak was no strategist; he barely paid attention to the petty feuds and wars of the common people. Vahlok, on the other hand, was a combat veteran, a "battle-mage" he had called himself at one time. But Miraak was not without an advisor.

" _Challenge him…"_ the Prince of Secret Knowledge suggested. _"Throw down the gauntlet…of single combat…to prove who is stronger. I know…you will not fail…my Champion."_

"And if he refuses?" Miraak frowned.

" _He will not,"_ Mora said implacably. _"He cannot. To refuse would be…to admit you are stronger."_

"Am I?" Miraak mused, doubtfully. He had seen Vahlok fight in the past, during an insurrection from a village that objected to the sacrifices they were required to supply. Only scrub trees and rabbits inhabited the place now. Not one stone was left sitting on top of another.

" _With my help…you will be,_ " Mora crooned, his many eyes staring unblinkingly at the young man before him.

Miraak's expression turned sour, now. Mora had not exactly lied, but he had not told the entire truth, either. The 'help' the Daedric Prince had supplied included a spell so powerful that the very bones of the earth would shift and split.

" _Use it only…as a last resort,"_ he was told.

And he did, though it cost him every shred of magicka in him. Though his sight dimmed and he nearly swooned, he cast _Earthquake_.

But even that did not stop Vahlok from coming after him. Even while the ground still reeled beneath his feet, when the earth groaned and shuddered from the abominable forces that wracked it, Vahlok had found a way to cross the gulf and come for him. Even as thousands of men and animals fell into the abyssal void, Vahlok came for him. As the lava boiled up from the bowels of the land, and the waters rushed in to fill the gap, filling the air with scalding, choking steam, Vahlok had simply flown over it.

 _He flew!_ Miraak thought with exasperation. Much like the Arch-Mage had found a way to do. _How could I have anticipated_ that?

It was at that point that Miraak realized he was lost…or would have been, had Hermaeus Mora not stepped in to rescue his Champion, and carry him off to Oblivion permanently. At first, he didn't believe he would never return, but it soon became apparent that it was more of a punishment for failure than a rescue. From that time on, his trips to Nirn were of short duration, with only his mind able to return – a reverse of what the Black Books usually did to the reader.

And now it would soon be over. All the planning, suffering and waiting would be done, and he would be able to return, body and soul, to the realm of the living… _if_ he and the Arch-Mage acted quickly. The dragons must be sent back first, of that there could be no question. Kruziikrel and Relonikiv had served him well, as had Sahrotaar, and they did not deserve to be left behind when he departed Apocrypha. It would take an enormous amount of energy, he knew. It had nearly undone him to bring them here in the first place. But with the Arch-Mage present, to draw upon her power, it could be done.

Miraak turned his head towards the Arch-Mage, sleeping in the only bed available. The glow from the lantern illuminated her face, and he was struck by just how young she truly was, for someone so powerful. Her auburn hair shone burnished copper in the lantern light, neatly braided back from her face, one lock of pure white woven into the plaits on the right side. So, she had already performed some of the deeper magicks. It had left its mark upon her. He wondered briefly if she truly understood what it had cost her to tap into such god-like powers. Did the Last Dragonborn know?

He shrugged it off. It was of no matter to him. All that mattered was getting back to Nirn before Mora found a way to pierce his barrier and put a stop to everything he had worked for these last few years.

And yet…the Arch-Mage had played fairly with him. Though she had not trusted him at first, she had agreed to help him. Deep down, something inside him squirmed uncomfortably. He had always thought of himself as a man of honor; he had always kept the promises he had made, though he had made sure those had been few enough. It was easier that way. It was part of what made Hermaeus Mora's betrayal of him so intolerable. He had been promised power, and that he had received, but he was never told he would never be able to use that power to overthrow the dragon lords that oppressed his people.

Both the Arch-Mage and her husband had thrown the question at him: why hadn't he stopped Alduin back before he had been trapped in Apocrypha? His pride forced him to prevaricate, to not answer directly. The truth was more humiliating; Vahlok had beaten him first. He had not had an opportunity to challenge Alduin. Had it not been for that, he might have grown in power to the point where he could have battled the Dragon God of Destruction himself. But it had not been the right time for that. By the time Miraak was fighting for his life against Vahlok, Alduin was being thrown out of Mundus by an Elder Scroll, wielded by the very First Tongues who had sought his aid against their arch-foe, whom he had churlishly refused.

 _I didn't want to help them,_ he thought truthfully, _and I didn't want their help, because I was too full of pride at my new-found power. I wanted to be able to say I had killed Alduin all by myself._

And yet, thousands of years later, here he was trapped in Apocrypha, and Alduin had found his end at the hands of a humble, unknown Imperial by the name of Marcus of Whiterun. The gods had truly forsaken him. Or had they?

 _Did they turn their backs on me, or did I forsake them when I agreed to become the Champion of a Daedric Prince?_

He didn't want to answer that, even to himself.

Tamsyn groaned and shifted again. She was waking up, Miraak knew, and soon they would have to combine their powers to send the dragons home. He wondered again just _where_ Sahrotaar had gone. Then Tamsyn opened her emerald green eyes and saw him looking at her. Pink color flushed her cheeks, but she smiled at him, and Miraak felt something like lead flip in his stomach.

"Keeping watch over me?" Tamsyn chuckled.

"Are you rested now?" Miraak replied gruffly.

"I do feel better now," she admitted, and if she noticed his tone, she said nothing. "Have you completed the preparations you wanted to make?"

"Nearly," Miraak said stiffly. "I wish to send the dragons back to Nirn first. Once I leave here, I do not wish for them to be left behind."

To his surprise, Tamsyn's smile widened and her eyes sparkled. "I was hoping you'd say that!" she exclaimed. "It would be horrible to leave them here!" A shadow crossed her face. "But that's going to take an awful lot of energy," she worried. "Can you do that?"

Miraak hesitated. He had never asked for help from anyone in the past. His pride had refused to allow it. But pride would be a shallow thing to hold onto if he failed to send the dragons home, and was too weak to fight off Hermaeus Mora, who would surely be waiting for such an opportunity.

"I can," he said slowly, "but I would need your help. And I do not know precisely where Sahrotaar is at the moment."

Tamsyn looked around the Summit and realized only two dragons perched on their roosts. "When did he leave?" she asked.

"Shortly before you slept," Miraak replied. "He has not yet returned."

"You're Dragonborn," Tamsyn remarked wryly, as if to her husband. "Call him."

Miraak stared at her for a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm beginning to understand what the Last Dragonborn sees in you," he chuckled with a self-deprecating smile.

He stepped away from Tamsyn to the center of the raised pool.

" _SAH RO TAAR!"_

The Shout boomed around the Summit and echoed across the pallid green reaches of Apocrypha.

"Now what?" Tamsyn asked.

Miraak shrugged. "Now we wait."

* * *

Neloth was waiting for them when Marcus and Azura once more became aware of their surroundings.

"Well?" he demanded. ""What happened? What did you see? Different people have very different experiences when reading these books."

"A lot of green ichor and iron latticework," Azura quipped.

"Seekers and Lurkers, too, don't forget," Marcus grinned.

"Did you see Hermaeus Mora?" Neloth drawled impatiently.

"Yeah," Marcus replied. Fun time was over. "We saw him. He very 'graciously' gave me a power unique to Dragonborn."

"No wonder the Dwemer were so interested in that book" Neloth mused. "It was indeed one that Miraak used to advance his power as Dragonborn. But I assume there's some bad news? It would be unlike Hermaeus Mora to allow anyone to gain such knowledge without exacting a price."

"He wants me to be his Champion, for one thing," Marcus scowled. "I pretty much told him to stuff it up his tentacles."

Azura choked on a snort of amusement, but Neloth ignored her. "And? How did he take that? I can't imagine he was pleased."

"No," Marcus agreed. "He pretty much told _me_ to do what he wants if I want Tamsyn back."

"You are a very long-winded fellow," Neloth complained. "You're taking far too long to get to the point. What does the Daedric Prince of all Secret Knowledge want from you in order to return to you your wife?"

"He said I have to convince the Skaal to give up their secrets to him," Marcus said finally. "If I do that, he said he'd let me explore Apocrypha to find her."

Neloth was the one to snort this time. "Hmph. What secrets could they have worth keeping from old Mora? Sounds like a bargain to me. Hermaeus Mora learns some fascinating new ways to skin a horker and you become the second most powerful Dragonborn that ever lived. Well, that gives me a lot to think about. I have some ideas about how to locate another of these Black Books. In any case, I'd take advantage of this opportunity, if I were you."

Marcus wasn't so sure, but the dig at him being the 'second most power Dragonborn' wasn't lost on him. "What if there's something really important they're holding on to, though?" he asked. "Something that could turn the world on its side or something?"

"From the Skaal?" Neloth's eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. "I doubt it. Still, you'd better go talk with them and see what they say. And while you're up that way, you might want to look into Benkongerike. My research suggests there may be a Black Book hidden there. At least, that was its last reported location, though admittedly, that was several hundred years ago."

"Benkongerike," Marcus repeated slowly. "Azura, didn't you say that place was a nest for rieklings?"

She nodded unhappily. "Yes, and they're nasty little buggers. They pop up out of nowhere, and they're deadly with those short spears they use."

Marcus nodded. "Well, it can't be helped. We need to look into every Black Book to find Tamsyn. We'll just have to be careful."

As it was later in the afternoon, they decided to postpone the trip to the Skaal Village until the morning. Their time in Apocrypha had been exhausting, and Azura wanted to make sure their packs were properly stocked.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," she grinned as she opened Marcus' pack.

"What?" he inquired.

Azura pulled out several books Marcus had picked up in Apocrypha. "They _did_ come back with us!"

"Great!" he beamed. "I'll put them in your chest for now until I get back to Raven Rock."

"What about this?" the Bosmer mage queried, holding up a hide-wrapped bundle.

Marcus frowned. "What is that?"

"The taproots for Elynea that you promised to soak in the river up north," she reminded him.

"Oops."

Azura chuckled. "Don't worry. We've been rather busy. We'll do it tomorrow, since we have to go back up there anyway."

There were other things they had packed away that Marcus wanted to sell off, so they bundled them into some sacks and left Tel Mithryn to see Revus Sarvani. Talvas was outside, still attempting to conjure something from a book.

"Have you seen Varona?" he asked Azura as they passed him.

"No, come to think of it," Azura replied. "Why?"

"Master Neloth was looking for her earlier," the apprentice said. "She left early this morning to head to Raven Rock to pick up some supplies that were ready. I thought she might be back by now."

Azura looked at the sun, lowering in the west through the haze of ash. "It's a pretty good hike from here to Raven Rock," she said. "I'm sure she'll be back soon, though. It's still a bit early to expect her."

"I know," Talvas said, "but you know how Master Neloth can be."

Azura rolled her eyes. "Don't I just!"

They continued on their way and met up with Revus as he was packing away his supplies.

"Not too late, are we?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"It's never too late to make a good sale," Revus grinned, and willingly bought the extra weapons, jewelry and books that Marcus had managed to fit into his backpack. Azura bought all the healing and magicka potions he had on him. Neither she nor Marcus wanted to ask Elynea for anything, since they hadn't kept their promise to her yet.

On their way back, they heard screaming coming from somewhere north of them and rushed through the drifting ash and sand as fast as they could. Varona was being attacked by ash spawn, and while the Dunmer steward knew enough magic to cast a ward, it was clear she was on the losing end of the fight.

Azura sent a blast of Ice Storm towards the spawn, weakening them, as Marcus drew Dragonbane and plowed into the nearest one, tackling it to the ground like a linebacker.

"Azura! Thank your namesake you're here!"

"Keep that ward up, Varona!" Azura ordered, and whipped out a succession of Ice Spikes at two other spawn before drawing Sting and Grave. "Get your back against those rocks! I'll handle this!"

Ebony and stahlrim flashed in the dying light of the sun as Azura parried the attacks of the ash spawn. A third dragged itself from the ground nearby and shambled up the hill towards them. Grimly, Azura kept herself positioned in front of Varona, sheathing Sting in favor of putting up a ward of her own, just in time to block a fireball launched by the third spawn.

Marcus smashed the head of the spawn he had tackled with his gauntleted fist, and the rest of the creature crumbled to dust. Leaping to his feet he saw three more advancing on Varona and Azura, and bellowed out his Unrelenting Force, blowing all three down the hill. Two of the spawn were bristling with Ice Spikes.

"Stay with Varona," he ordered Azura. "Get her back to Tel Mithryn!"

"Trust me!" the Bosmer girl called, turning to the Dunmer steward to help her escape.

"With my life!" he grinned back, and half-ran, half-slid down the ashy slope to a small stream that coursed its way to the sea. Two of the spawn were on their feet, but the third had been reduced to a glowing heap of embers.

He made short work of the other two spawn, the ring of fire resistance he wore protecting him from being completely immolated. He picked through their remains to retrieve the ores and gems, then made his way back to Tel Mithryn, rejoining Azura and Varona on the way.

"Thank you!" Varona breathed. "I've never had any trouble from ash spawn before, when I've gone to Raven Rock. I don't know why we're having so much trouble with them now."

"That _is_ strange," Azura agreed, troubled. "I thought we'd taken care of the problem when we killed General Carrius."

"Unless he wasn't the one behind these," Marcus mused. Azura arched an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head ever-so-slightly. He didn't want to discuss what he was thinking in front of Varona. No sense in sounding unnecessary alarms.

As they approached the gigantic mushroom that was Neloth's tower, a figure ran up to Marcus.

"I've been looking for you," the courier gasped, out of breath. "I've got another letter for you from Ralis Sedarys. He's…starting to scare me a little." The young Dunmer gulped. "Looks like that's it. Got to go!"

Despite being clearly winded, the courier took off at a fast jog back in the direction of Raven Rock.

Marcus held the letter gingerly, as if he expected it to sprout teeth and bite him.

"Do we want to know what he has to say?" Azura ventured.

Marcus face twisted in an expression somewhere between frustration and futility. "I think I already know." But he broke the seal and opened it anyway.

" _I hope you're not angry, but I may need some more resources. Come around when you have time. Ralis."_

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," Azura chirped hopefully. "Maybe they just need more food or something."

"Maybe," Marcus replied doubtfully. "And maybe pigs will fly." He blew out a sigh. "I suppose we'd better go find out what he wants in the morning. It's out of our way, but talking with the Skaal and crawling through a riekling hive might take longer. And if the miners do need supplies, we should take care of that first. I can't imagine why Ralis is bothering me with this, though. I've given him more than enough money to cover this kind of thing."

"We won't know until we get there," Azura pointed out. "There's no point in worrying about it right now. Come on. I'm hungry, and Ulves is actually a very fine cook, in spite of what Neloth might tell you."

It was a fine meal, indeed, but Neloth had sequestered himself in his laboratory set to one side of the main chamber. Marcus could see him through the thorny barrier that was the door, perusing some ancient tome and sipping on a cup of his favored canis root tea. He looked up briefly when Azura and Marcus entered, nodded to them absently, then went back to his reading.

"He'll be like that for hours, yet," Azura snorted. "He's sealed himself in there, and the room is Muffled, so he could study in peace and quiet while we practiced. At least _our_ meal will be more enjoyable!"

Talvas and Varona joined them, and Marcus enjoyed the opportunity to get to know the other residents of Tel Mithryn better.

"How did you come to be Neloth's apprentice, Talvas?" Marcus asked him, sipping on the broth of a very savory mushroom soup.

"I didn't have much choice," Talvas replied with a twist of his mouth. "My family has known Master Neloth for centuries. It was practically decided before I was born that I would be his apprentice someday. No one asked me if that was what _I_ wanted."

"What _did_ you want to do?"

The Dunmer mage shrugged. "I'm not sure. All my life has been spent preparing to be the apprentice of a Telvanni wizard. Master Neloth isn't the only one, but he's one of the best, if not _the_ best. I really don't know what else I'd be doing now, if it wasn't this."

"You're very talented, Talvas," Azura assured him. "Neloth doesn't appreciate you as much as he should."

"I don't know about that," the young mer demurred, uncertainty shadowing his face. "Just when I think I have a grasp on something, Master Neloth will point out something I've forgotten in that critical drawl of his, and I feel like a simpleton all over again."

"That's more a reflection of him than you," Marcus pointed out. "I think Neloth's personality is such that he has to goad people into thinking of all possibilities that he sees clearly. Tact and diplomacy don't come easily to someone who is as intelligent as Neloth. I admit his manner irks me, but I've got his number now, so I can deal with it."

"Got his number?" Varona queried, raising her eyebrows.

"It's an expression," Marcus shrugged. "It means I've got him figured out now. I know what he's trying to do, and how he tries to do it. So, I don't let his mannerisms upset me."

"I wish I could do that," Talvas said mournfully, "but you're a guest here. I'm his apprentice. If I tried to take that tact with him, he might dismiss me."

Marcus nodded. He could understand that. "Well, as I once told my daughter, Lucia, a long time ago, sometimes you have to wait until you're better and stronger at what you do before you make your move. And in the meantime, you just play along."

"You think that would work?" Talvas' face had brightened.

"It certainly couldn't hurt," Azura interjected. "At least, it worked for me. But I wasn't Neloth's apprentice anymore when I gave him a piece of my mind."

"How did he take that?" Varona asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"About like you'd expect," Azura admitted. "He ignored me and continued on as if nothing had happened!"

Varona and Talvas exchanged knowing chuckles. "That sounds like him," the Steward of Tel Mithryn said drily.

"Just how long has Neloth been around?" Marcus asked.

Varona rolled her eyes. The implied remark she didn't make suggested, _too long,_ but it was Talvas who answered.

"In Solstheim? Only since the beginning of the era, I think," the young mage replied. "He came here before the Red Mountain exploded, if I remember the stories correctly, and he brought the spores with him to grow this tower, and the others connected to it."

"Her," both Azura and Varona said.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Talvas gulped, glancing around nervously. "Connected to _her_ , I meant. He's spoken from time to time about Morrowind, but I don't think he has any desire to return there any time soon."

"I know he knew the Nerevarine," Varona put in. "He's mentioned it to me on a couple of occasions."

"Who was the Nerevarine?" Marcus asked.

"Marcus is from Skyrim," Azura interjected, to Varona and Talvas' shocked faces. "So I'm sure he doesn't know everything about the history of Morrowind."

"The Nerevarine was a famous Dunmer hero," Varona explained. "He put an end to the Blight and defeated Dagoth Ur." At Marcus' blank look, she smiled. "I've got a book about it, if you'd like to read it sometime. It tells the tales of Indoril Nerevar, who joined the Chimer clans together to defeat the Dwemer who came to conquer Morrowind. He had a magical ring which proved his identity, because no one but he could wear it."

"How did Neloth come to know him?" Marcus asked.

"I don't think Master Neloth actually knew Indoril Nerevar," Talvas put in. "He knew the Nerevarine, though, and officially recognized him for who he was."

"I'm confused," admitted the Dragonborn.

"Indoril Nerevar was murdered by a few of his Council whom he trusted," Varona said. "As he died he vowed someday to return, and that they would know it was him by his ring. Centuries later, he was reincarnated, and found the ring, called Moon-and-Star, which proved it was truly him, returned to Morrowind in its time of need."

"Master Neloth was there to confirm that the Nerevarine truly was Indoril Nerevar, reincarnated," Talvas explained. "I've got a couple of books on the subject, as well. If you'd like, you can have them. I have duplicate copies."

Marcus smiled and graciously accepted the offer. After the supper was cleared away, Talvas brought him the books.

"This one is _Nerevar At Red Mountain,_ " the Dunmer mage said, presenting it to him. "And this one is _The Battle of Red Mountain – The Rise and Fall of the Tribunal._ They both basically tell the same story, but from two different viewpoints."

"Here is my book, as well," Varona said, coming up and handing him the slim green volume of _Nerevar Moon and Star._ "This one is more about Indoril Nerevar himself, as opposed to the Nerevarine he became later."

Marcus thanked them both profusely for their generosity. If there was one thing he had enjoyed most about his second life, it was delving into its complex history. Events which were real to most of the people he met were outside his experience. He had, after all, only been in Tamriel a handful of years.

He stayed up late reading Varona's book in order to return it to her as soon as possible. Thus, it was with gritty eyes and a cotton mouth that he dragged himself out of bed the next morning. Azura had already eaten and waited patiently for him to break his fast and make ready for the trip back to Kolbjorn.

They made it as far as Fort Frostmoth without incident. A strident roar split the air, however, and the ground trembled as an enormous dragon with a flattened head and tail kicked up a flurry of ash and dust.

" _GAAN LAH HAAS!"_ it bellowed in their direction. Azura barely got her Ward up in time. Marcus took the full brunt of the blast.

"Shit!" he cried, as he felt everything in him being siphoned away.

Azura was already laying into the dragon with her frost spells, but the ancient wyrm merely flicked its wing in her direction, kicking up the sand and ash and flinging it into her face.

"Augh!"

"Stay behind it!" Marcus ordered. "But watch that tail!" He turned to the dragon, who was gathering himself to launch into the air. _"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"_

" _Nii!"_ the dragon screamed. _"Fos lost hei drehlaan wah zey?" What have you done to me?_

" _Los dron hei,"_ Marcus replied shortly. _I'm beating you._ He wished he still had Alduin's Bane in one piece, but until he could get the sword repaired or remade, he settled for electricity in his off hand and Dragonbane in his right.

" _Zu'u Norokah,"_ the dragon growled, his eyes watching Marcus' every move. _"Wo los hei wah jur zey?"_ _I am Fierce Hunter. Who are you to challenge me?_

" _Zu'u Dovahkiin, Norokah,"_ Marcus replied evenly. _I am Dragonborn. "Dreh hei eim dii drogein?" Do you accept my Lordship?_

" _Nii, Dovahkiin,"_ the ancient one rumbled. _"Nii fen kos dii zin wah krii hei."_ _No…it will be my honor to kill you._

"That didn't sound like a 'yes' to me!" Azura called back, holding her fire to see what Marcus would do.

"It wasn't," Marcus shot back, dodging a snap of the powerful jaws lunging at him. He swiped with Dragonbane and shot a Lightning Bolt straight into Norokah's eyes. The dragon closed them just in time, the thick scales protecting the fragile orbs, so the spell had little effect, but it gave Marcus a chance to leap onto the dragon's neck and position himself behind the flattened head. He flipped Dragonbane point-down and pressed it into the soft spot where the skull connected to the spine. The Akaviri blade slipped easily between and through the tough scales and hide, and Norokah's eyes snapped open in pain.

"Submit, Norokah!" Marcus growled in the common tongue. "I know you can understand me. Admit I'm stronger than you and accept me as your _Thuri,_ and I will let you live. There's no Alduin here now to bring you back from the dead if I kill you. I'll take your soul and your knowledge will be mine!"

Several options flew through Norokah's mind, none of them good. He had heard tales of the Dragonborn, but had not believed them. Now, he was humbled to admit he was wrong. The _Dovahkiin_ was more cunning than he had anticipated, and he had been outmaneuvered.

"What will you do to me, if I submit?" the dragon asked.

It was a fair question, Marcus knew. When Alduin held lordship over the dragons, any who opposed him were killed, even if they submitted. It was how Alduin kept the others from joining forces against him. Norokah could expect nothing less from an enemy who had defeated him.

"If you accept that I am your Lord," Marcus said, "and come when I call for you, you are free to go. I am not Alduin. But I _am_ the one who killed him." Marcus let that sink in for a bit.

"I…submit… _Thuri,"_ Norokah murmured, and lowered his head as proof of his acceptance. The plain truth of the matter – and dragons were always brutally honest with themselves – was that Norokah did not wish to die. But this _joor_ would, someday, and he would be free again. He could wait.

Marcus nodded, satisfied. He withdrew Dragonbane and sheathed it. "Now, let me ask you this, Norokah: how is it that you and the other dragons here in Solstheim have managed not to have suffocated in all this ash?" He cast the healing spell on himself as he spoke.

A rumble resembling a chuckle escaped the ancient one. "We have gotten used to it," he replied. "It has taken some time, since the _strunmah_ exploded, but it does not bother us now."

Again, Marcus nodded. Dragons were, after all, immortal. It would take more than ash in the air to kill one. But it made things so much easier for Azura and him.

"Azura!" he called. "Come on up here!"

"What?!" she squeaked.

Norokah started, but did not protest. His _Thuri_ was in charge now, and too close to his vulnerable soft spot for the dragon to object.

"I said come on up here. We're flying the rest of the way to Kolbjorn."

Nervously, Azura clambered nimbly onto the dragon's neck and settled herself behind Marcus, gripping him tightly around the waist, as if riding double on a horse.

"Do you know where the excavation site is, Norokah?" Marcus asked. "Where the men are working just west of here?"

"I have seen it, _Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon replied. "There are many _joore_ there, but I have not hunted there. Some of them have powerful bows that hurt more than they should."

 _Good to know Ralis is spending_ some _of my hard-earned money on defense,_ Marcus thought wryly.

"Take us there," he told the dragon now, "but not too close. We'll walk in. Come back when I call for you."

" _Geh, Thuri,"_ the ancient one conceded. He lifted himself in the air, and at the first surge, Azura gasped and held on tighter, but she didn't shut her eyes. Instead, she bravely looked around her, seeing Solstheim spread out below her for the first time. The appreciative gasp she gave was lost to the winds as they soared over the wastelands of southern Solstheim.

It took the ancient drake only a few minutes to fly over what would have taken Marcus and Azura at least two more hours of slogging through the ashy dunes. Norokah set them down a few hundred yards away, to avoid any possible acts of retaliation, but when Marcus and Azura arrived at the site, they realized with dismay that they needn't have worried. Ralis was the only one moving around the encampment.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, startled upon seeing them stride up. "I was hoping I wouldn't see you quite so soon."

"We got a ride," Azura quipped.

While Ralis raised a questioning eyebrow, Marcus demanded. "What's all this about, Ralis? Where are the workers? And why do you need more resources? Haven't I given you enough money to cover all that?"

"Yes, well, the mercenaries did their jobs," Ralis assured him. "Worth every septim. Of course, they might disagree... the dead ones, anyway. Gods, what a disaster. I feel like we've done this before, but that just means we're getting good at it. You go make the draugr dead again, and I'll keep the rest of these n'wahs from running off."

"Wait…what?" Marcus spluttered. _"All_ of them _dead?"_

"No!" Ralis frowned. "I didn't say they _all_ died, but a fair number of them did. The rest all ran off."

"And you just sit out here and calmly go through your findings like it's nothing!" Marcus stormed.

"Well, what did you expect me to do?" the little adventurer complained. "It's not like I can help them _now._ Me getting killed isn't going to bring them back. Wouldn't do me much good, either," he muttered under his breath. "Look, I know this is another setback, but we're _so close!_ I really feel like we're about to discover something important. We can't quit now! So…if you could just take care of the draugr…we can get back to it as quickly as possible."

Marcus stood there fuming for a long moment, getting himself under control.

"I'll be back," he said tightly, and turned to head down into the barrow, not waiting to see if Azura followed.

"You're a very unpleasant man," she scowled at Ralis.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "It's both a gift and a curse."

Shaking her head, she followed the Dragonborn into Kolbjorn Barrow.

She found Marcus in the chamber past the rotating gateway. He stood still, taking in the sight around him, before descending the spiral ramp down to the main floor. Moving quickly to the left side of the chamber, he positioned himself in front of what Azura now recognized as another Word Wall. He stood for several moments, as if in a trance, before turning to see her coming toward him.

"Another _thu'um?"_ she asked him.

"Yeah," he said with a faint smile. _"Nos._ It means 'strike,' but until I get a few more dragon souls to unlock them, I won't be able to use them in a Shout."

"You could have had one earlier," she reminded him pertly.

"Yeah, I could have," he agreed, before grinning at her. "But then I wouldn't have got us our slick ride."

"There _is_ that to consider," she nodded, giggling. "Although Norokah is really more pointy than slick."

"Well, shall we take care of the draugr, then?" he invited.

"Might as well, since we're here," Azura replied.

The undead here were getting tougher. Draugr Deathlords with their Shouts, and Scourges and Wights with their frost and conjuration spells, hindered the Dragonborn and his companion as they methodically worked their way through the barrow. It was nothing they couldn't handle, however. The puzzle room presented a greater challenge, until Marcus figured out that each tile needed to be lit to open the gate so they could proceed. His Slow Time Shout helped, but still wasn't quite enough to keep them all lit.

Azura solved the problem by using a Telekinesis spell to sweep across the floor, pushing several at once, very swiftly. She gave him a smug grin when the gate opened. In their explorations, they found a pair of ancient Nordic gauntlets sitting on a pedestal in the newly-excavated section, as well as another ring sitting on a plinth behind the gate in the room with the lighted tiles. Both radiated strong magic.

"I'm sure these are part of the artifacts of Ahzidal that Ralis was looking for," Azura sighed wistfully.

"Can you tell what they do?" Marcus asked.

Azura examined the items shrewdly, and passed her hand over both, casting a spell to help her identify their purpose.

"The gauntlets have some kind of warding protection on them," she informed him. "The ring is connected to Destruction magic. Beyond that, I can't really tell."

"I suppose we'll have to give them to Ralis," Marcus said reluctantly. He was having severe doubts about continuing to finance the excavation. It seemed that he was throwing more and more good money after bad. Azura had questioned him about it already, but he had heard the chanting and knew a Word Wall was buried here. Well, now he had the _thu'um._ Perhaps it was time to cut his losses.

"Let's head back upstairs," Marcus said. "We can still make it to the Skaal Village before sunset tonight."

"Are you insane?" Azura blinked at him. "It's at least a full day's travel from here to the Skaal Village!"

Now it was Marcus' turn for a smug grin. "Not on dragonback, it isn't."

Ralis Sedarys was not happy to learn his patron was pulling out.

"But we can't quit now," he insisted. "I think we're almost to the bottom of the Barrow, but... it's going to be everything I can do to find more miners. We've... developed quite the reputation. But for enough gold... I can do it. Just barely."

"How much more?" Marcus demanded. Not that he intended to; he merely wanted to see what the sticker price would be.

"Five thousand septims," Ralis replied.

Marcus gaped and Azura gasped.

" _Five thousand?"_ choked the Dragonborn.

"I know, I know," Ralis soothed. "You could almost buy a house for that much."

 _I_ did _buy a house for that much,_ Marcus thought, remembering how much Breezehome had set him back in the beginning, and how much he had gone through to save up that much coin.

"I'm not made of money, Ralis," he warned the little Dunmer now.

"I'm aware of that," the adventurer said, placatingly. "But like I said... we've got quite the reputation out here. And coin is the only counterweight for a bad reputation. Have you…got the money?"

Azura refused to look at him, but made a small gesture as if to say, "It's your choice."

It was still in Marcus' mind to refuse, but even he couldn't deny he wanted to get to the end of the barrow. It was where, in his experience, the best treasure was often hidden, and at this point, he felt a need to claim as much of it as possible to recoup his losses.

"You'd better be right about this, Ralis," Marcus warned as he handed over several hefty coin purses. "If you're not, I'm going to take it out of your hide."

"That won't be necessary, partner," Ralis assured him, hefting the pouches. "Good, good," he murmured, almost to himself. "I'm going to spring for some more muscle this time," he offered. "That should do the trick."

Marcus wasn't so sure. If the excavation had the reputation Ralis claimed, it would take more than gold to bring in capable mercenaries whose only mantra was, "What good is gold if you ain't around to spend it?"

They left the barrow then, and went some distance away so Marcus could call Norokah. The ancient dragon came swiftly and they climbed aboard, winging their way across Solstheim headed north and east to the Skaal Village. Again, Marcus had Norokah set them down a short distance away and they walked in together. It wasn't quite evening yet, and most of the Skaal were preparing their evening meals.

"Dragonborn!" Frea exclaimed. "It is good to see you again! Azura! Are you keeping well?"

"We're fine, Frea," Azura smiled warmly.

"I need to talk to your father," Marcus said without preamble. "Is he at home?"

"Follow me," the shaman-in-training replied. "I'll take you to him."

Storn was sitting outside his hut on a small bench, but rose to greet them as they approached.

"So, Skaal-friends, you have returned. What have you discovered about the troubles that plague us?"

Marcus gave him a thumbnail version of their trip into the Black Book, and ended with Mora's proposal.

"Old Herma-Mora himself, eh?" Storn mused. "So he is the source of Miraak's power. Of course. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him."

"Forgive my asking," Azura began hesitantly, "but what are the secrets that the Skaal have withheld from him?"

"Ancient lore," Storn replied, "handed down from shaman to shaman since the All-Maker first gave us Solstheim. How to talk to the wind, how to listen to the earth - these are our secrets. Nothing of power or mastery."

"Why would Hermaeus Mora want them?" the Bosmer girl asked, puzzled.

"We know him as Herma-Mora," Storn shrugged. "The Demon of Knowledge. It is in his nature to horde secrets to himself. Their value to him is of no consequence. The very fact that the Skaal have kept knowledge from him has merely increased his desire to have it."

The expression on Marcus' face was bleak as he said, "Mora told me it's the only way I'll get my wife back, or learn the second Word of the Bend Will Shout." He hated himself for having to say it. He felt as though he had betrayed the Skaal after their kindness to Azura and him.

Storn, too, looked troubled. "So it falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him. The Tree Stone is still corrupted... the land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored... it may be enough. It will have to do."

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked, alarmed. "I don't want you to do anything that's going to hurt you or your people."

"Do not worry for me," Storn smiled, though it was a sad smile all the same. "The Skaal also tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Herma-Mora finally wins. As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up. I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me. Give me the book. I will read it, and speak to old Herma-Mora myself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain."

Reluctantly, Marcus handed over the Book, but Frea stepped in. "Father, you must not do this. That book is... wrong. Evil. Against everything that you have taught me my whole life."

Storn patted her arm in a comforting manner. "I must, Frea," he soothed. "It is the only way to free Solstheim forever from Miraak's shadow. There comes a time when everything must change. Nothing that lives remains the same forever. Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid out for me."

Frea bowed her head in acceptance, though her face clearly showed her fear. "I stand beside you, father, as always."

Storn turned to Marcus and Azura. "I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me." He opened the Book.

Slimy, greenish-black tentacles shot out of the Book and enveloped the Skaal Shaman. One of the appendages seemed to pierce straight through Storn's head. Behind him, Hermaeus Mora appeared, hovering in the air. The Skaal in the immediate area screamed in horror, and mothers pulled their children off the square, to hide in their homes. Marcus heard the distinct _thud_ of several wooden bars being thrown into place behind slammed doors.

 _"At last,"_ Mora gloated. _"The Skaal…yield up their secrets…to me!"_

Storn's voice called out in anguish, but he was unable to resist. "You... liar... gah! ... I won't... not... for you..."

Mora turned his numerous eyes towards Marcus. _"Dragonborn…you have delivered me…the gift I requested. In return…I keep my promise…as befits a Prince of Oblivion: I give you…the Word of Power that you need…to challenge Miraak. You will be…either a worthy opponent…or his successor, as the tides…of fate…decree."_

The knowledge of the Word _hah_ , 'mind,' flooded his brain, and Marcus stood transfixed, absorbing it in. He still had no dragon soul with which to unlock it. Hermaeus Mora was not _that_ generous.

Before Marcus – or anyone else – could react, Storn stiffened, cried out "Noooo!" one last time, then slumped, the Book falling from his lifeless fingers. Hermaeus Mora vanished into thin air.

"Father!" Frea wailed, as Azura swiftly dropped to her knees beside him and began pouring healing spells into his body. It soon became apparent, however, that it was too late, and Azura shook her head at Frea sadly.

"Oh, Father," Frea whispered. "What have you done?" She stood and turned to Marcus, still reeling from what had just occurred. "Go," she demanded with streaming eyes. "My father sacrificed himself so that you could destroy Miraak and lift his master's shadow from the land. Go, then. Kill Miraak. Do not fail."

She turned, then and knelt beside her father's body as the Skaal, one by one, came out of their homes to pay their last respects to their Shaman.

"Let's go, Azura," Marcus said tersely.

Azura said nothing. There was nothing to be said. She saw the look in the Dragonborn's eyes and quailed. She was grateful it was not directed at her, but for a moment she pitied Miraak. It was a look of pure murder.

* * *

 _[Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me thus far. I must apologize for the lateness of this chapter. My father passed away in late July, and my siblings and I have been working to help get Mom's house in another state cleaned out and move her closer to where three of us live. It has been a monumental task, and I have vowed never to do that to my own children! We are all very sad at losing Dad, but know we were blessed to have him with us so long (he was 87)._

 _I'm hoping to get back on track with this soon and have more frequent updates. Of course, having said that, it will depend on how much my personal life interferes. Just know I'm determined to see this story through to its conclusion, and to work on the fourth book, if it is at all possible. In my head, Marcus and Tamsyn_ will _be going up against the Aldmeri Dominion. But will all the preparations they've made for this be enough? We'll have to see._

 _Next up, Marcus and Azura search for the Black Book said to be somewhere in Benkongerike, and Marcus gets to see up close and personal just what the rieklings are like. Meanwhile, Tamsyn and Miraak combine forces to send the dragons back to Nirn, but they hit a snag. Thank you again for your support. If you like what you've read so far, please drop me a review!]_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It was some time before Marcus could get himself under control. He strode out of the Skaal Village in a blind rage. He vaguely remembered where Benkongerike was located in relation to their position, and headed in that general direction, aware that Azura kept pace with him, but remained silent.

When they reached the headwaters of Harstrad, where they had fought the spriggan matron a few days before, Marcus stopped.

"Something wrong?" Azura ventured tentatively.

"No," Marcus bit out. "Yes." He blew out an exasperated breath. "Everything." He took off his pack and sat down. Azura settled herself next to him.

"Did you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Marcus hesitated. Usually he kept his thoughts to himself, but this was something he couldn't keep inside.

"I blew it back there," he admitted. "I should have done something to stop Hermaeus Mora."

"What could you have done?"

"I don't know," Marcus said harshly, more to himself than to his companion. "But I should have done _something_ , instead of standing there like a lump. Now Storn is dead, and it's my fault."

"No one blames you for that," Azura pointed out. "Even Storn himself said it was his decision to make. He even told Frea that."

"But I could have stopped Mora from killing Storn."

"Could you?" Azura asked, bluntly. "Are you that powerful?" At his sour look, she continued. "Hermaeus Mora is a Daedric Prince. You can't kill them. Mora was going to get what he wanted whether you stepped in to stop him or not."

"But I just stood there—"

"We all did," Azura cut in. "None of us were prepared for that. And even if you could have done something, attacked Mora, fought him, it wouldn't have changed anything. Storn would still be dead, and it might have made things more difficult for your wife."

Marcus considered her words. "It's just that I felt – I _feel_ – so helpless. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with the Daedra interfering in my life, but it's the first time someone else will feel the consequences of my actions."

"I understand," Azura said. "I really do. Which is why we _need_ to find all the Black Books and read them, to make sure the Arch-Mage isn't hidden in one of them."

"And if she's not? What if Mora has Tamsyn hidden in some other place in Oblivion?"

"I don't think he can," Azura said thoughtfully. "He'd have to be allied with another Daedric Prince to do that, I think. And if there's one thing about the Daedra I do know, it's that they are very vain. All that power makes them think they're invincible. They wouldn't want to admit they need help from another of their kind. Add to that the fact they don't really trust each other, and the result is that they pretty much keep to themselves. Think about it. Which Daedra have you dealt with? And did they combine forces against you?"

Marcus thought about it. "No," he conceded. "They never did. Meridia was the first one I learned about," he told Azura. "I found her Beacon, but it took me a while before I got around to returning it to her temple. She bitched at me the entire time, too, until I did. Then there was Mephala; I found her Ebony Blade in the bowels of Dragonsreach, in Whiterun. Apparently, Jarl Balgruuf and his ancestors had been keeping it out of circulation. When his kids started acting up, being disrespectful and rude, I traced it to the sword and took it out of there."

Azura's eyes widened. "Where is it now? You don't have it with you."

"No," Marcus admitted. "I—I lost it during a trip to the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar. It's somewhere in the Summerset Isles, now, wreaking havoc there."

Azura whistled in concern.

"Then there was Hircine," Marcus said, repressing an inward shudder. "He seemed to think I was his own personal plaything as long as—"

He broke off.

"As long as you were a were-wolf," Azura finished, her milk-chocolate eyes widening. "That's the only way Hircine would have bothered with you. But you're not now… _are_ you?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, I found a cure. A rather unique, singular cure that really can't be duplicated, but I'm good now." He hesitated before continuing. "I also helped someone get Mehrune's Razor," he admitted. "Dante Greyshadow is the Guildmaster of the Thieves' Guild in Cyrodiil, and he helped rescue Tamsyn from the Thalmor a couple of years ago. In repayment of that debt, we traveled around Skyrim finding the pieces of the Razor to see if it could be reforged. The problem was, the guy who set us on the journey wanted to use it to rebuild the Mythic Dawn."

"Weren't they responsible for killing Emperor Uriel the Seventh?" Azura inquired.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "and for pretty much causing the Oblivion Crisis. When Dante and I found that out, we didn't have much choice but to keep the Razor out of his hands. The only problem is, Mehrunes Dagon himself got involved, and ordered us to kill Silus Vesuius. We didn't want to, but Dagon incited Vesuius to attack us. We had no choice at that point. I stayed out of it, and let Dante handle it. But as soon as Vesuius was dead, Dagon summoned some rather beefy dremora to attack us. It was…not an easy fight."

Azura gave a slow shake of her head in wonderment. "Is that it?"

"No," Marcus admitted. "You already know I went to the shrine of your namesake seeking help in finding Tamsyn. She was very misleading, and all I ended up doing was helping her cleanse her Star, which I probably won't use."

Azura's face paled beneath her carefully-applied green stripes.

"You – you have Azura's Star?" she breathed, with liquid eyes.

"Yeah," Marcus said. "I left it back at Severin Manor in the safe. When we get back there, I'll get it for you. I have no use for it."

"Oh, my gods," Azura murmured. "Thank you! I would _love_ to have that!" She smiled in sympathy. "It seems like the Daedra really have been picking on you."

"I suppose so," Marcus agreed. "In fact, the only two I've ever gotten the upper hand on are Namira and Clavicus Vile."

"What did you do to them?"

Marcus shrugged. "I didn't really know how badly I screwed over Namira at the time. All I knew was that I broke up a cannibal coven in Markarth. I learned later, from…from other sources—" Here, he remembered the conversation he'd had with Tamsyn. "I learned that the woman I killed in the catacombs was the leader of Namira's coven, and that there were several people in town who belonged to that ring."

"How horrible!" Azura looked sick at the thought. "And Clavicus Vile?"

Marcus actually chuckled. "I stole his dog from him."

"You _what?"_

He told her then how Barbas had approached him to reconcile him with the Daedric Prince, how they had gone together to find the Rueful Axe, and how Vile had wanted him to use the Axe to kill Barbas.

"I kept the Axe and the dog, and left Vile to molder in his 'pitiful little shrine in the backwoods of nowhere.'" It was a fairly creditable impersonation of Clavicus Vile's whine.

"And where is Barbas now?" Azura asked, wide-eyed.

"He's with Lucia, my middle daughter, in Solitude, at the Bard's College," Marcus smiled. "He really became attached to her, and I couldn't ask for a better protector for her."

"Poor Dragonborn," Azura commiserated. "The Daedra really have treated you abominably."

Marcus shrugged. "Well, I think that, like Hircine, they saw me as some sort of trophy to be won. They all want me to be their Champion. I believe in the Nine Divines," he continued, remembering his trip to Sovngarde, "but there's only one god I follow, and that's Akatosh. If the Daedra have a problem with that, they can take it up with him."

"So, now we have to deal with Hermaeus Mora in a way that won't put the Arch-Mage at risk," Azura mused. She jumped to her feet. "We'd best get moving, then, and find that Black Book in Benkongerike."

"You're right," Marcus nodded, rising as well. "And…thanks, Azura. I do feel better, getting that off my chest." He dug into his pack and brought out a leather-wrapped bundle. "But first, let's take care of these taproots for Elynea."

This was quickly taken care of, and the two were soon on their way again. As they walked, Azura mused out loud. "By my count, you've dealt with seven of the sixteen Daedric Princes. If your wife had the _Oghma Infinium,_ that makes eight."

"She also has a staff she says she got from Sanguine," Marcus supplied, "but she refuses to tell me how she got it."

 _A very wise woman!_ Azura thought privately, having a reasonably clear idea what sort of thing the Prince of Debauchery might lead someone into doing.

"Well, that makes nine, then," Azura confirmed.

Marcus thought back. "I also remember her telling me she helped Erandur in Dawnstar relieve the people of some continuous nightmares sent by Vaermina. And my brother Cicero was involved with Sheogorath, and got some crazy staff from him that Tamsyn has now.""

"Ten and eleven," Azura tallied. "And didn't you mention to me your son helped Malacath?"

"Yeah," Marcus nodded. "That would make twelve. Sheesh! The Daedra really _have_ interfered in my life, now that I really think about it! You'd think there was something special about me." He gave a self-deprecating smile.

"That only leaves Peryite, Nocturnal, Boethiah and Molag Bal," Azura shuddered.

"I will be quite happy to have them ignore me," Marcus declared. "Though it seems to me that Madanach, the Reach King, handled something at Bthardamz that had to do with Peryite. At least, the last time I saw him, he was sporting a rather odd-looking shield he claimed the Prince had given him. I didn't believe him at the time. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Spellbreaker," Azura gasped. "I've heard of it! It bounces magic back to the caster!"

"That would explain why Madanach likes it so much," Marcus grinned. "I never thought of him as someone who would wear armor. He trusts in his magic to protect himself."

"He's not wrong," Azura sniffed. "But some of us don't mind a little extra protection!" She flashed her gauntlets as she spoke. "Do you feel a little better now, for having talked about it?

Marcus realized he did, and nodded. "Thanks, Azura. I guess I didn't realized how badly it was affecting me."

"People have told me I'm a good listener," she shrugged. "But I will say this: I pity Miraak when the two of you finally meet. He doesn't stand a chance."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Marcus contradicted. "He's had a few millennia to practice being Dragonborn. And besides, I'm beginning to think he's the least of the Skaal's worries. From what I can see, the real threat to their way of life is Hermaeus Mora himself. I just haven't figured out a way yet to outsmart him."

"You'll come up with something," Azura said with confidence. "I have faith in you."

They reached Benkongerike a couple of hours later, weary from battling snow drifts and frozen to the bone.

"And now we have to go into an ice cave?" Marcus asked in consternation.

"There's no help for it," Azura shrugged.

"Well, let me warm up first," he insisted. Turning to a pile of rocks nearby, he Shouted his Fire Breath at them, and the stones reddened noticeably.

"That's a clever idea," Azura smiled gratefully, holding her hands out to the heat which radiated from them.

When they felt restored enough, they entered the cave together.

Light filtered through the ice walls, turning them a pale blue-gray color, but the tunnel led them downwards, and soon turned to a combination of hewn stone and glacial ice, and the light faded, to be replaced by occasional torches set there by the rieklings.

"We have to be very careful here," Azura warned in hushed tones. "The rieklings very often set out scouts to guard their territory. We won't see them until we are literally right on top of them."

"I'm confused," Marcus admitted. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they bury themselves into the packed snow and erupt out, spears at the ready, the moment they feel the vibrations of footsteps over them."

"They can survive being buried in the snow?" Marcus wondered.

"They're not like humans, or mer," Azura explained. "Some people think they can hibernate for a time, like bears do. I'm not sure where they came from, but they've been in Solstheim for hundreds of years. They have a Chief, but no one is really certain how he's chosen to lead them. It might be because he's the strongest, or the smartest, or because he succeeded in killing the former Chief."

"I have a way to know if they're anywhere close to us," Marcus assured her, thinking of his Aura Whisper.

"That's not the concern," Azura said. "They sometimes ride bristleback boars, so you not only have to deal with the spears they can throw, very accurately, from quite a distance. You'll also have to deal with avoiding the boars' tusks. Although," she added as an afterthought, "those tusks are very useful in potions that help fortify your strength and your health."

"Noted," Marcus nodded. "Kill boars. Get tusks."

Azura stifled a giggle. "That's not the only reason we're here, and you know it."

"You said Neloth was fascinated by them," Marcus prompted. Anything he could learn about the rieklings would help if it came to fighting them – and he was convinced he would need to fight them. Getting to the Black Book hidden here wouldn't be easy.

"He was interested in them because they have a language and a culture all their own," Azura whispered as they crept along. "They seem to latch on to the oddest things. A riekling hut might contain gold or jewels or weapons, but it might just as easily contain ordinary things, like buckets, ruined books or clothes irons."

"Clothes irons?" Marcus snorted in mirth.

"I said they latch on to the oddest things," Azura reminded him primly.

They were approaching a bend in the tunnel now, and all conversation ceased. They found some coins and alchemical ingredients lying out in the open, and Azura confiscated them, tucking them away in her belt pouch. Marcus sent his Aura Whisper ahead, and while several images illuminated, they were still far enough away not to be an immediate concern.

Another pile of rubbish was thrown into another bend of the tunnel, and Marcus found an empty soul gem and sheaves of wheat, which he passed along to Azura. Further on, iron pots sat on a wooden crate surrounded by spigots, leather straps and skulls that looked to have come from some giant beaver. The crate was festooned with some kind of ocher in a mossy blue-green color, in weird glyphs that made no sense to either of them.

"If I had the time," Azura breathed, "I'd probably try to copy all of these down and see if I couldn't learn to translate them."

"They're probably more like pictographs than words," Marcus murmured. "They represent an idea, rather than spell anything out."

Azura's eyes lit up. "I'll bet you're right!" she exclaimed, then lowered her voice as he shushed her. "You might be on to something, Marcus! Maybe I _should_ copy them down."

"We've got other fish to fry right now," he warned her. "There seems to be a larger settlement up ahead." He sent out his Aura Whisper again and confirmed the numbers. "Three figures, wandering around the center of the area. Two more further away just sitting there."

"They might be the scouts I told you about," the Bosmer mage nodded. She brought electricity into her hands. "I'm ready when you are."

"Let me try to reason with them, first," Marcus suggested. He disliked the idea of rushing in, killing every creature in sight unless he knew for a certainty that they could not be reasoned with.

Azura blew out a breath of frustration but motioned for him to proceed. The electricity in her hands dampened and switched to the peachy-pink glow of a healing spell at the ready.

Marcus strode to the end of the tunnel where it widened into a large ice cave ringed with small, domed huts and a handful of blue pygmies who stared at him in disbelief before breaking into an excited battery of guttural chatter.

"Agaroo! Ah baa faloo! Moooong cha!"

"Excuse me," Marcus called out. "Is there anyone here who speaks the common tongue?"

More excited rambling met his inquiry, and the tone became more menacing.

"Takafala gajoo? Hoola wakasee! _Bagaru!"_

"We don't mean you any harm," Marcus soothed, using his Voice of the Emperor. "We just want to pass through here to retrieve something."

Whether they understood his words or not, Marcus would never know. His powers of persuasion were lost in translation as the agitated rieklings cried out, _"Huuuuwaaaa!"_ and began throwing their short spears. He dodged the first one, but not the rest, and though the rieklings were small and their weapons smaller, they launched their fusillade with pinpoint accuracy. One spear caught in his chestplate, the point barely breaching the tough, dragonplate armor. Another found the joint where the shoulder plate met the upper arm guard.

"Yeargh!" he cried out, unable to help it. "Alright, boys, I tried to be nice. _Fus ro dah!"_ he bellowed, and the three rieklings were blown head over heels to the other end of the ice cave. The percussion of his Shout, and the bodies landing with a thud on the hard-packed snow, caused the two Scouts hidden under the ground to burst into view, spears at the ready.

"I take it this means all bets are off?" Azura couldn't resist smirking.

"Yeah, yeah, you've got your pound of flesh," Marcus growled, his voice hoarse from the _thu'um._ "Let's take them out."

Marcus drew his bow and Azura brought her electricity back, after sending a quick healing burst in Marcus' direction. The riekling warriors advanced again, and the Dragonborn soon learned another inborn ability the rieklings seemed to have: an uncanny ability to side-step incoming arrows. He supposed it had something to do with dodging spears from opposing tribes, but it was maddening to line up his shot only to have the riekling step to one side as soon as he released his arrow.

Azura's shock spells were having better effect, and two of the rieklings quickly went down to her Chain Lightning spell. A third, caught in the same blast, was brought to his knees.

"Side step _this,_ " Marcus muttered grimly as he finished the warrior with his arrow.

Two incoming spears were his answer, and he turned to the side just in time to intercept one with his arm.

"Dammit!" he cursed. Sheathing the bow, he drew Dragonbane and charged forward, zig-zagging his way across the chamber. The spear-shots of the rieklings went wide this time as he closed with them, and the closest one went spinning into the wall from the force of the Dragonborn's blow. The last riekling never backed down, but set his spear for Marcus' charge. Seeing this, the Dragonborn pulled himself up short. He was no fool. At the speed with which he'd been running, the short spear would have come out the other side of him had he kept going.

"Woon cha!" the riekling snarled.

"Take _that!"_ Azura called, sending a bolt of electricity which hit the riekling directly in the face. He crumpled into the snow and lay there, unmoving.

Marcus blew out a breath. "Thanks, Azura!" he smiled. "I almost perforated myself on that little bastard's spear."

"I said they were nasty," she reminded him. "But I think it was good of you to give them the benefit of the doubt. Few people would have done that."

"It's a failing I have," Marcus admitted humbly. "It's almost gotten me killed a few times, but I can't help myself."

Azura patted his arm. "You're a good man, Marcus Dragonborn. Don't change. That said, let's not repeat this as we go along, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. "No quarter given from now on."

There wasn't much in this settlement of value, at least, from an adventurer's viewpoint. A few gold and jewels, and an empty soul gem of the common size. In a box in a corner Azura found a chef's hat and coat, but it was too small for her.

"How did they get _that?"_ Marcus wondered aloud as she held them up. "No, wait. Don't tell me. I can guess."

"It's too bad it's too small for me," Azura sighed. She was taller by a few inches than Tamsyn, Marcus could see, though still shorter than his own towering six feet, two inches.

"Pack it up," Marcus grinned. "I'll give it to Tamsyn. She's quite the chef."

"This will fit her?" Azura eyed the coat doubtfully. "I thought she was taller than this."

"She's a full foot shorter than me," he chuckled. "She only seems taller because of her position at the College and the power she wields. Her enemies think she's ten feet tall and spits magicka for fun."

Azura chuckled, folding the coat and hat carefully and putting it into her pack. "I can't wait to meet her," she chortled.

A bit further along, Marcus' Aura Whisper located another scout under the snow. They attempted to sneak past it, but while the Bosmer mage might have slipped by, the Dragonborn, by his own admission, had two left feet and gave away their presence. It was a short fight, however, and the riekling had nothing of interest on him.

The ice tunnel eventually led to a larger, open cavern with several platforms on columns, and ledges running partially around the perimeter. The way forward seemed to lead across suspension bridges made of wood and bone, bound by sinew and rope. Below, the lower floor of the cavern was half-filled with water which Marcus was certain would be just above freezing.

Several rieklings were in this area, as well as a riding boar on the far side of the cave in a pen. Since that was the way they needed to go, however, it meant dealing with all of them.

"There's no easy way to do this one, is there?" Azura whispered. Marcus shook his head.

"Not really. We can try for stealth…"

"Because that worked so well back there," his companion smirked.

"Very funny," he grimaced. "Let's see how far we can get first." He drew his bow and took aim at a riekling approaching across one of the bridges. The dragonbone arrow flew swift and true, and the riekling sank to the ground with a gurgle as the arrow lodged in his throat.

"Nice!" Azura complimented him. "Think you can do that with the other seven?"

"It won't be for a lack of trying," he grinned.

They edged out carefully into the open, and Marcus – still crouching – sent out his Aura Whisper once more, pinpointing his next target, which went down like the first one.

But now the rieklings were getting suspicious and restless, coming across the bridge on the far side, searching for whatever it was that felt wrong somehow. One of them opened the gate of the boar's pen, allowing it to come out.

"That's not good," Azura murmured.

"Retreat," Marcus whispered. "Pull back for a minute or two and let them settle down. There's still too many of them for us to fight, just the two of us."

Azura did as he asked, but when they had returned to the ice tunnel, she raised an eyebrow.

"We could have taken them all, you know," she said with some asperity. "I have Chain Lightning."

"And I have Unrelenting Force," Marcus nodded. "That's not the point. Yes, we could probably have taken them all out, but it would have been a tough fight and we'd have gotten hurt. We're here for the Black Book, and we need to be able to get to it while we're still in one piece."

"But we could—"

"Azura, please," Marcus interrupted gently. "Hear me out. You didn't feel those spears. I did. They hurt like hell, and those little bastards threw them with precision accuracy from farther than I could throw a football."

"What's a football?"

Marcus hesitated. "Later. I'll tell you later. The point is, there were still a half a dozen of those screaming blue meanies in there _besides_ the half a ton of angry pot roast we'd have to deal with. I know how dangerous wild boars can be. I didn't want to put you at risk with that thing barreling down on us while we're fighting his buddies."

"I can take care of myself, Marcus," she flashed angrily. "You've already seen that."

"I know," he soothed, turning on the charm. "But it won't hurt for us to have a little patience and whittle them down in ones and twos so the final assault will be more in our favor. Okay?"

Only slightly mollified, Azura nodded. "Alright, we'll do this your way. I'm ready when you are."

"How good are you with a bow?" he asked. He'd never actually seen her shoot hers, though it was nested across her back.

"Not terrible," she admitted. "But I'm no marksman, either. I've got an elven bow I sometimes use, but it's just easier for me to use magic."

"Do your best," he nodded. "I'd like to do this as quietly as possible."

He crept out from the ice tunnel back onto the ledge and towards the bridge. The rieklings on the other side of the cavern seemed unconcerned about the apparent loss of two of their number. The boar stood near its pen, rooting around in its trough for anything edible.

 _He goes next,_ Marcus thought. Still crouching, he launched two arrows in quick succession towards the boar and watched with satisfaction as the arrows sunk into its haunch up to the fletching. The giant pig squealed in rage and pain and whirled around to face the direction the arrows had come, its beady red eyes searching for the source of its indignation.

 _Oh shit! That's one tough pig!_

"Retreat!" he whispered harshly to Azura, but the Bosmer mage pretended not to hear and launched two arrows of her own at the closest riekling. It took both arrows to finish him off, her elven ones not nearly as powerful as the dragonbone ones Marcus used.

"I said retreat!" Marcus hissed as the rieklings and their porcine partner started across the bridge on the other side towards the raised platform that lay between them.

Instead, Azura stood and sheathed her bow, casting a fusillade of Chain Lightning in the direction of the oncoming rieklings.

The first two went down as the electricity shot completely through them and leaped to the next target, which happened to be the boar. The cavern echoed with the guttural shrieks of the dying rieklings and the squeal of the boar as it fell to its knees, panting.

"Dammit!" Marcus muttered as he noted the incoming spears being launched their way. Azura put up a ward which Marcus knew from experience wouldn't stop an arrow, much less a short spear such as the rieklings used. His jaw dropped, however, when the projectile merely thumped harmlessly against her magical shield and landed with a _thunk_ at her feet.

"How did you-?"

"Better watch out, Marcus!" Azura called, a small smile playing around her lips. "We have more on the way!" She cast another Chain Lightning and finished off the boar, catching another riekling in the blast. "There's only two left," she called. "Did you want me to save them for you?"

"We're going to have to talk," he growled, not entirely angry, since her spell worked so well. But he moved forward as he spoke and closed with the two remaining rieklings, effectively negating their ability to throw their spears at him. It didn't keep them from stabbing, just the same, and Azura judiciously withheld her Chain Lightning, knowing it would catch the Dragonborn in the blast.

Rieklings typically wore only fur loincloths for clothing, and at close range were no match for Akaviri steel. They went down quickly, and Marcus threw off a healing spell to deal with the minor stab wounds they inflicted on him. He turned to Azura, who was approaching.

"Now, about this ward spell of yours," he demanded. "I've never seen one that stopped arrows or spears before."

Azura gave a smug smile. "That's because I developed it," she said. "I've had some dealings with rieklings before, and the reavers around here like to shoot first and ask questions later. It made sense to come up with a ward that would block incoming missile fire."

Marcus chuckled. "You could have said that before, when I was going on about the rieklings and their spears."

"I tried to," she scowled back. "But you cut me off."

He hung his head. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I guess I was mansplaining. It's something I try not to do."

"'Mansplaining'?" Azura lifted a finely-arched eyebrow.

"It's when a man tries to explain something to a woman that she already knows more about than he does," Marcus said.

Azura nodded slowly. "Yes, that's accurate. You _were_ 'mansplaining' to me."

"And I'm sorry," Marcus replied in contrition. "I'll try not to do that again. You surprised me, though. You've done something outside of my knowledge, so it was something I never imagined would be possible." He chuckled. "Tamsyn's going to _love_ meeting you!"

Azura gave a modest smile. "I hope so," she said softly. "Shall we move on?"

Marcus nodded, leading the way. Yes, his wife would definitely love meeting someone so inventive she could create her own spells. A ward spell, such as Azura's, would be invaluable in the coming war with the Dominion.

At the far end of the cavern a short tunnel led into worked stone, of the kind with which Marcus was very familiar.

"This is a Nordic barrow!" he exclaimed, looking around.

"It is," Azura concurred. "There are still a few of these around Solstheim. It used to be part of Skyrim before being gifted to the Dunmer after the explosion of the Red Mountain, after all, so it's not surprising there would be barrows here. We've already been in a few, if you think about it."

Marcus nodded thoughtfully as they crept along, still wary of any traps or surprises. The corridor led into a large chamber, splashed with riekling sigils. A lean-to was set up to one side of the chamber, and several barrels were set near familiar iron doors at the far end. They had no sooner stepped into the chamber when three of the barrels exploded and rieklings jumped out, ululating their war cries.

" _TIID KLO UL!"_ Marcus Shouted, and felt himself withdraw from the effects of time. The rieklings were slowly drawing back their spears, ready to launch them, and he could see Azura's hands move in their elegant dance to bring her spells online.

Closing the distance to the three rieklings, he plucked the spears from their hands and removed the ones from their backs, dumping them into an empty barrel. For several heartbeats he stared at the rieklings, taking a good, long look at them.

Short and squat, with beady eyes and wide mouths filled with filed teeth, they repulsed him. Still, that was no reason to kill them in cold blood now that he had removed their weapons. He hurried back to Azura's side as the _thu'um_ faded.

Azura's ward flashed into existence, and she braced herself for impact, but it didn't come. The rieklings themselves seemed confused about the absence of their spears – every one of them. They grabbed for the ones on their backs, but they were completely gone. Beady brown eyes widened in fear, and they muttered amongst themselves.

"Let us pass," Marcus ordered them. He didn't know if they understood or not. He hoped the tone of his voice would be enough.

It wasn't. One of the rieklings grabbed a shard of pottery and came at them. The other two, taking courage from their companion, also grabbed whatever came to hand and closed the distance.

"Now what do we do?" Azura asked, trying not to laugh. One of the rieklings had grabbed a book and was prepared to hit them with it.

Sighing in frustration, Marcus replied, "Wait here."

For the next few minutes, Azura was treated to a private demonstration of the martial arts she had witnessed in Ashfallow Citadel as the Dragonborn fended off and overcame all three rieklings, leaving them bruised and unconscious. He found some leather straps and bound their hands and feet.

"That's not going to keep them very long," she remarked.

"Hopefully long enough for us to get out of here," Marcus answered. "I just didn't feel right about killing them once I disarmed them, but they wouldn't back down."

"How did you do that?" Azura asked as he worked. "I never saw you move!"

"It's one of my _thu'ums,"_ he grinned. "Slow Time. It allows me to move faster than my opponent." He winked at her. "You're not the only one who has a few surprises up their sleeve."

"I guess not!" she chuckled, digging through a pile of books in the lean-to. "I'm glad it worked out this time." She made a face, "Ugh! Is there anything in here besides _The Lusty Argonian Maid_?"

"Volume One or Two?" Marcus asked, coming over and peering over her shoulder.

Azura glared at him. "You can't possibly mean you're interested in this…this _filth!_ " she exclaimed.

"Purely from a scholarly point of view," he teased. "I'm not into Argonians, but the word-play is amusing."

"Hmph!" the Bosmer mage sniffed. "Then _you_ take a look through here. I need to wash my hands!" She found a rag and wiped them as she spoke.

Marcus grinned again and rooted through the pile. Indeed, it appeared the only books there were both volumes of the afore-mentioned pornography play. One book at the bottom, however, had a different binding.

"This one isn't about Argonian sex," he drawled. He held it up for her to see.

"What is it?" she asked, seeing the Alteration icon on the cover.

"You get first dibs," he told her. "If it's a spell you don't already have."

Azura opened the book and began to read, stopping after a page or two. "This is the spell _Telekinesis,"_ she told him. "I already know this one."

"Hmm…" Marcus mused. "I don't know that one."

"Take it, then," Azura smiled. "Go ahead and add it to your repertoire. It might prove useful."

Marcus gratefully accepted the book back and soon the knowledge of the spell rested comfortably in his mind. He could see himself using it much the way Luke Skywalker had used the force to call his lightsaber to him when it was out of reach.

There was nothing else of value in the room, and Marcus wanted to be gone before the rieklings woke up. He hadn't made the knots on their bindings impossible to undo. With some maneuvering, they would be able to get free. Hopefully, he and Azura would be long gone from Benkongerike before that happened.

The iron doors opened to a spiral staircase leading up, at the top of which was a long corridor that bent to the right at its end. On the left-hand side was a chamber set apart with bars, and a locked gate that Marcus had to pick to get through. His lockpicking skills had improved after his trip with Dante Greyshadow. The Guildmaster had given him some pointers about more advanced locks which had proved to be very useful. He still couldn't manage to pick a lock without breaking several picks, which Dante had somehow managed to do.

"Practice," the Breton thief said modestly. "It just takes practice."

A key rested on one plinth inside the chamber, while a book, _Dragon Language: Myth No More,_ sat on the other. Marcus smirked. He could have told the author the dragons had a language all their own. He shoved the book into his bulging pack.

The key proved useful further along the corridor which ended in a door that even Azura couldn't pick their way through. Her skills were somewhat better than his, but even these failed against the door that faced them now. The key turned quietly in the lock and the door swung open on oiled hinges – a welcome change from the creaks and groans he was used to hearing when he wanted to be quiet.

Directly in front of them was a half-wall, such as he had seen in many barrows. The slatted vertical divider allowed one to see into the chamber beyond, but also provided cover from which to launch a sniper attack. Marcus used his Aura Whisper to determine there were four rieklings here, one mounted on his war-boar.

"Any ideas?" Azura asked in hushed tones.

Deciding to give her an opportunity this time, Marcus asked her quietly, "What do you think?"

Azura blinked. "Well…hmm…" She furrowed her brow in thought before responding.

"The one on the boar is going to be the toughest one to face," she said. "Make no mistake. He will ride that thing right up the stairs to get to us. Those boars are nimbler than they look. We should focus on taking him out quickly."

"Alright," Marcus nodded. "Use these walls to our advantage, but let's take out the boar-rider first."

The rest of the fight went fairly easy. Once the boar fell to Azura's spells and Marcus' arrows, the other rieklings milled around in confusion, trying to find out where the attacks were coming from. It wasn't difficult to pick them off one by one.

With the rieklings dead, they explored the chamber, which had columns and platforms at both ends. Only one led to the landing on the east side of the room. Here, Marcus found a stone pictograph with the image of whale on it.

"Wait a minute," he mused, and stepped out onto the platform overlooking the rest of the chamber. He'd seen the turnstiles only moments ago. Looking around the upper level of the room now, he noticed the other pictographs near the top of the south wall. The second plaque was missing. Well, not any longer, he smirked. _Eagle, whale, whale, snake,_ he nodded smugly.

As Azura combed through the various bits and pieces the rieklings had collected, finding plenty of alchemical ingredients, ores, coins and potions, Marcus returned to the main floor and regarded the turnstiles that flanked the barred doorway on the south wall. Just beyond the bars, he could hear the soft chanting of the Dragonborn who had preceded him, if Serana's theory was true. There was a Word Wall, back there in the darkness, and whatever _thu'um_ it held, he wanted it. To that end, he maneuvered the turnstiles into the right combination, and watched with satisfaction as the bars receded into the floor.

The chanting grew louder, though he knew only he could hear it. It filled his mind, and the Word he wanted ignited in blue-white fire, tendrils of energy streaming out towards him, embracing him, filling him with the knowledge of the _thu'um,_ if not its deeper meaning.

 _Gaar._ Unleash. Instinctively, Marcus knew this word belonged to the other he had found in White Ridge Sanctum, _ven_.

 _I need more dragon souls,_ he thought regretfully. It was ironic; he was trying to get the dragons to join him, yet he needed their souls to unlock the meanings of the Shouts.

 _Or do I?_ Marcus thought. An epiphany seemed to overcome him. He had been Dragonborn for a handful of years, but he had not used souls on _all_ of his Shouts. Some of the knowledge had been gifted to him, either by the Greybeards, by Paarthurnax, or by Akatosh himself. While he doubted his patron god would just arbitrarily give him the knowledge he needed – this quest he was on was indeed part of his trial to prove he could be Dragonborn without the god's help – he might be able to persuade others to give him what he needed without a fight. He had too much respect for Master Arngeir and the others to attempt to subvert them, and he doubted they would appreciate giving him knowledge he would only use to dominate others.

 _Let's call a spade a spade, Marcus,_ he acknowledged honestly to himself. _You want the advantage without the effort. It's what all dragons seek._ And therein lay the key. He might be able to persuade or force the dragons to gift him the knowledge of a particular _thu'um_ once he asserted his dominance over them. It was definitely something to think about.

"I don't see the Black Book here anywhere," Azura said, coming over to him. She glanced up at the curved wall behind him but said nothing. Her milk chocolate eyes, however, acknowledged that he had found another Word. "I don't think the rieklings found the Book. And this looks like the end of the line. Maybe Neloth was wrong, and it isn't here."

"I wouldn't be so quick to rule it out," he told her. "Look, over there behind that pile of rubble. There's a tunnel there that leads away from this area."

"Well, let's go, then!" Azura said brightly. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "I'm good. Follow me." They entered the tunnel together. "It was _gaar,_ by the way," he threw behind him. "It means 'unleash' and has something to do with the word for 'wind' that I found earlier."

"But you still can't use it, right?" she asked, privately pleased he had anticipated and answered her unspoken question.

"Nope, but I've got a plan," he replied cryptically.

The Bosmer mage wisely remained silent. She trusted the Dragonborn. He would tell her when he was ready.

The tunnel led to a now-familiar circular chamber with serpentine dragon head sculptures and filigreed ironwork. A gurgling noise greeted them as they entered, though they could not see any of the greenish-black ichor that was typical of Apocrypha. The Black Book rested on its pedestal, and on the count of three, the two adventurers grabbed it at the same time and stuffed it into Azura's backpack, since Marcus couldn't have shoved anything more into it if he'd had a crowbar.

An iron door at the far end of the room led into a short tunnel that ended in a blank wall with a pull-chain on the right side. Azura pulled it and part of the wall separated from the rest, sinking into the floor. Marcus never ceased to be amazed at the advanced level of engineering the ancient architects had. When the door was closed, you would never be able to find it. The area beyond this turned out to be an alcove near the beginning of the ice caves; there was a small chest here, and a couple of urns with some gems and coins which the two had missed on their way in.

Once outside the cave, Marcus called for Norokah, and when the dragon appeared Marcus directed the firedrake to take them to Raven Rock.

"Not Tel Mithryn?" Azura asked in surprise.

"No," Marcus said, shaking his head. "I have some things to drop off at Severin Manor, and I want to retrieve that Star for you."

Subsiding happily, Azura climbed up behind Marcus and braced herself as the dragon launched himself into the air.

"Norokah," Marcus called, knowing the dragon's keen hearing would pick up his words. "I have another request of you, once we reach Raven Rock."

"What is it, _thuri?_ " the dragon rasped back.

"I'll tell you when we get there," Marcus answered. "Set us down near the Earth Stone."

"As my _thuri_ commands," Norokah replied.

An hour later, as the dust and ashes settled around them, Azura leaped lightly off the dragon's back, while Marcus descended a bit slower.

"What is this request you have for me, _thuri_?" the ancient dragon asked.

The Dragonborn chose his next words carefully, watching the _dov_ as he did so. "Will you give me the deeper understand of a _thu'um_?"

If a dragon could look shocked, Norokah certainly would have. _"Niid, Dovahkiin!"_ the dragon blurted. "You do not know what you ask. The knowledge of the _rotmulag_ is unique and personal. To give this knowledge freely to one who has not earned it is to bring disgrace to oneself."

"I've beaten you in combat, Norokah," Marcus said evenly, more disappointed than he allowed to show. "I've spared your life when I could have taken it. In point of fact, some of your _zeymah_ might already consider you to be disgraced. I do not feel that way. I consider any _dov_ who fought as valiantly as you to be a worthy opponent, but more valuable as an ally. Will you reconsider?"

Norokah hesitated. Everything the _Dovahkiin_ had said was true, though personally, had their roles been reversed, Norokah would not have hesitated to kill Marcus, rather than spare his life. Why the _joor_ had done so was still a mystery to him, but he was grateful to be allowed to continue to fly the skies of Solstheim. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, Norokah bore a grudging respect for the cunning and resourcefulness of a mortal who could best him.

"I will grant you the knowledge of one _thu'um, thuri,"_ he conceded. "But only one. Do not test my loyalty further."

 _It's one more than I had,_ Marcus thought, though he was disappointed he wouldn't be able to push the issue. Still, if Norokah was willing to give up one, he might be able to convince Odahviing to give him another. Perhaps other dragons would be willing to give him the knowledge if he allowed them to live.

"Teach me _hah,"_ he told the dragon now. Ducking his great, horned head in submission, Norokah allowed the energy to flow from him into the Dragonborn, and with great satisfaction, Marcus unlocked 'mind.' This gave him two parts of the Bend Will Shout. He would need another dragon for the third word.

Norokah threw himself into the air when it was done, and Marcus and Azura retreated to Severin Manor, where he retrieved the Star of Azura and presented it to her.

"It's so beautiful!" she breathed, caressing it gently before hanging it securely on her belt.

"Are you sure you want that out there in the open, where it could get broken again?" he asked, dubious.

Azura tinkled a laugh. "Oh, Marcus, you truly don't know much about Daedric artifacts, do you? It's almost impossible to break them!"

Marcus remembered Tamsyn telling him the same thing about Mephala's Ebony Blade when he'd threatened the Daedric Prince with throwing it down the Red Mountain. Now he realized how foolish that would have been. Mephala might have been taken down a few pegs for a while, but she would have retrieved her artifact anyway, and someone else would have found it. He'd have been better off leaving it where it was.

But he remembered how Nelkir and his siblings, Frothar and Dagny, had behaved under the Blade's influence and decided that no, he'd made the right decision after all. Second-guessing himself now would accomplish nothing. Besides, he'd already had confirmation from Ondolemar, former Thalmor operative from Markarth, that the Blade had been taken to the Summerset Isles where it was wreaking havoc among the Dominion higher-ups. He'd take that trade-off any day.

"Shall we search this Black Book?" Azura asked, tentatively. "I know we don't have the others here, but…"

Marcus hesitated. "We don't have anyone to watch our backs out here," he considered.

"What?" Azura blinked. "We're in your own home. We're about as safe as we're going to get!"

"I know," he nodded. "But at least at Tel Mithryn we'd have Neloth there. If we got stuck in the Book, he might be able to pull us out."

Azura considered this. "I don't know how he would know we'd gotten into trouble," she mused, "but I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry."

"That's what Tolfdir always says," Marcus chuckled. "And where magic is concerned, he's not wrong."

"Did you want to head back right away, then?" Azura asked. "I mean, after you unload your pack and all?"

"It can wait until morning," Marcus said. "It was already dark when we got back to Raven Rock. And I'm feeling stretched a bit thin."

"Alright," Azura agreed. "A good night's sleep will help us both. I'll stay in the other room tonight. Goodnight, Marcus."

"Goodnight, Azura," he called to her retreating back. He prepared himself for bed and lay down on the hard plank of wood covered with furs, shifting uncomfortably. As soon as he was able, he was putting proper beds in this place, he thought as sleep claimed him.

* * *

It was time, Miraak knew. He couldn't wait any longer, if he expected to get Kruziikrel and Relonikiv back to Mundus. He had tried calling Sahrotaar, but the dragon had ignored him. Well, if he were to be honest with himself, it was probably his fault. He had not used the Bend Will Shout on the dragons much lately because there had been no need. They had served him willingly. Only now, it seemed, Sahrotaar had suddenly decided to change the rules of the game. What had gotten under the _dovah's_ scales to make him abandon his lord and master in such a way?

It mattered not. The abandonment stung, but Miraak was still certain Sahrotaar would return, and he could demand an explanation.

"Are you ready, Arch-Mage?" he asked Tamsyn now.

"You're going to start without Sahrotaar?" she blinked.

"I must," Miraak insisted. "It will take some time after I Shout to recover. It…uses up a lot of my energy." He hated having to admit that weakness. "In that time, Hermaeus Mora may attempt to break down my barriers. That is why you are here. You must use your magicka to bolster the wards I have set in place until such time as I can take over to restore them completely. You must remain alert. His attacks will come from several places at once."

"I understand," Tamsyn nodded. "I won't let him get through." Surprisingly, she felt calm. She had already seen what Mora was capable of doing, and had analyzed his methods of attack. She knew what to do.

"Kruziikrel," Miraak commanded. "Come here."

The dragon lethargically stirred himself and dragged himself into air, hovering only a moment or two to get his bearings before dropping down heavily in front of Miraak. Tamsyn was already waving her arms around in ritual for her spell.

"I am returning you to Nirn," Miraak explained. "This is not a punishment. You have served me well here, and I hope you will do so once I return. But this place is not good for you, and I would not see you left behind, you or Relonikiv."

On his perch, Relonikiv straightened a bit and perked up.

"What does my _thuri_ wish me to do in Mundus while I wait for his arrival?" Kruziikrel inquired.

"Nothing," Miraak said. "Rest and regain your strength. Hide from the mortals for now. I will call for you once I return."

" _Geh, Thuri. Zu'u mindoraan." Yes, Lord. I understand._

Miraak nodded, satisfied.

" _NAHL DAAL VUS!"_

As the percussion of Miraak's Shout faded, a bluish-white glow immolated Kruziikrel and Tamsyn realized she had heard this particular Shout only one other time – when Tsun had sent both Marcus and her back to Nirn after defeating Alduin. Somehow, Miraak had learned the Shout.

The attack came swiftly, as Miraak sank to his knees to recover from the ravages the _thu'um_ had done to his body. A thudding sound came from all around them, but Tamsyn was ready. She had lined the inside of Miraak's protective shield with one of her own. Thin, transparent, and as strong as she could make it. She hoped it would be enough as Hermaeus Mora threw everything he had at Miraak's shield.

Indeed, she could see fractures in the outer layer that was Miraak's. Thin, spiderweb-like cracks spread wherever the heavy tentacles slammed against the barrier. But her inner force field held, and a screeching howl came from beyond when Hermaeus Mora hit the barrier Tamsyn had created and recoiled from it. The part of the tentacle that had made contact with Tamsyn's barrier had turned a dull gray, as if part of it had burned…or died.

" _How…is this possible?"_ Mora demanded, furious. _"This…is my realm…and it answers…to me."_

"But this part belongs to me, Mora," Miraak gasped, still winded from his exertions. "And I will not let you undo what I have labored long to achieve."

" _You do not have the power…to stop me, Miraak,"_ the Daedric Prince snarled. _"This…barrier…is not entirely…of your making. You…do not have the knowledge…to keep me out."_

"But I do," Tamsyn said quietly, though her voice echoed around the Summit nonetheless. "Go away, Mora. I won't let you through."

Surprisingly, Hermaeus Mora did just that. The tentacles withdrew, though the eyes still glared hatefully at the pair standing inside the protective barrier. _"You…have won this round, Arch-Mage,"_ he intoned. _"But I…can be patient. You must sleep…sometime."_

With that, the cloud of eyes and appendages withdrew completely, and Mora left them alone.

"He is right," Miraak murmured, troubled. "My body and your mind will grow weary. We will need to rest at some point. We are running out of time."

"I know," Tamsyn replied, her brow furrowed with worry. "If Marcus were here, we might stand a chance fighting Mora, but with just the two of us? We're good, but I don't know if we're _that_ good."

"We must be," Miraak insisted. "I have spent many centuries relying only upon myself. Seldom has there been a time in my life where I depended upon the charity of others."

"Isn't that what you're doing now?" Tamsyn asked, lifting an eyebrow. Miraak's lip twitched.

"I did say 'seldom,'" he reminded her, and she replied with a grin of her own. "Now I must ask you to prepare yourself again while I send Relonikiv home."

This time they were not attacked. Tamsyn felt it was because Mora intended to wait for them to drop their guard, and said as much to her companion.

"We must set up watches," Miraak shrugged. "As long as your barrier is in effect, Mora cannot reach us. But I must wait for Sahrotaar to return before we can depart this place."

"Have you tried to call him again?" Tamsyn inquired.

"No," Miraak answered, shaking his head. "Sending both Relonikiv and Kruziikrel home have exhausted me. I must rest before I can enhance my _thu'um_ enough to reach him in this realm."

"Enhance your Shout?" Tamsyn queried, puzzled. "How do you do that?"

"Does your husband not know this?" Miraak threw at her, gloating only a little. He chuckled at her expression of irritation and relented. "As long as I have a dragon's soul, I can use it to empower my Shouts, as you call them. It makes the _thu'um_ more powerful, in that it will last longer, reach farther and in some cases, cause more damage than it normally would. All _dov_ know how to do this. I learned from mine."

"So, you use a dragon's soul," Tamsyn mused.

"It does not consume the soul," Miraak corrected. "It simply empowers it. I always maintain two or three souls in the back of my mind for just such a purpose."

"How do you keep the souls from taking over your mind?" Tamsyn wondered, remembering what had happened to Marcus a few years ago.

Miraak looked surprised. "My strength of will is what keeps the dragon souls submissive," he stated, matter-of-factly. "They do not join their strengths against me because I am stronger than they are."

Tamsyn was quiet as she pondered this. Up until now she had been insisting Marcus use the souls as he acquired them, to keep him from becoming possessed once more. Now she realized she may have been doing her husband a disservice by not allowing him to become strong enough to deal with the dragons' wills on his own. Her own words came back to haunt her: _"Are you the Dragonborn or not?"_

"If you do not mind," Miraak continued, "I must rest now. You have slept recently—"

"I'll keep watch against Hermaeus Mora," Tamsyn promised quickly.

"You have my thanks," Miraak nodded. "Wake me if he attacks again, or should Sahrotaar return."

The First Dragonborn gave a slight bow and crossed the Summit to his bed, laying down upon it fully armored. Tamsyn doubted whether he had ever taken it off. This led her to wonder how he kept his clothing clean, and she spent the next few hours pondering whether she could create a spell that would automatically 'dry clean' her clothing.

When Miraak awoke, several hours later, Tamsyn reported no activity from the Daedric Prince, and that Sahrotaar had not returned.

"I will attempt to summon him once more," Miraak frowned. He stepped away several paces and Shouted into the bilious skies of Apocrypha. The _thu'um_ resonated and reverberated around and beyond them. It was stronger than the previous call Miraak had sent out, Tamsyn knew. She could actually _feel_ the vibrations of the percussive wave, even though it had not been directed at her. She wondered if that had anything to do with the shield she maintained around the Summit, and whether her barrier would prevent Sahrotaar's return. She didn't believe so. Her force field was nearly identical to Miraak's, except that she had made it, not him.

 _And, well…I_ am _half Aedra,_ she conceded. It was that part of her, she was certain, that had injured Hermaeus Mora during his attack, causing his appendages to burn. Perhaps that was why Mora had given up so quickly. He couldn't have failed to realize _why_ he couldn't penetrate her barrier. And perhaps now he realized what her great secret had been. _Maybe I've overplayed my hand._

There was nothing she could do about it now. If Mora knew her nature, he still couldn't hold her hostage here. She now knew a way to get out. If only Sahrotaar would return. Miraak could send the dragon back to Nirn, and then they could get out of here. If Marcus was still exploring the Black Books, she would at least be able to contact him through the communication earbuds and let him know she was safe. But they needed the dragon to come back, and soon.

* * *

Marcus and Azura headed back to Tel Mithryn the morning after their return to Raven Rock. They had awakened early, and Marcus sorted through his backpack and replenished potions from the stores that already existed in Severin Manor. There were a _lot_ of potions here; soul gems, as well, but they were empty.

Norokah took them back to Neloth's mushroom tower, but as they landed they could see ash spawn attacking someone hiding behind a rock. It was Talvas.

"Somebody help me!" he cried.

Marcus hit the ground running, sliding off Norokah's neck.

" _Norokah_ , _kod diin su'um!"_ he called to the dragon, and the ancient _dov_ rumbled an approving, _"Geh, Dovahkiin!"_ before unleashing a fusillade of ice in the direction of the cluster of ash spawn attempting to work their way around Talvas.

One of the ash spawn was reduced to its component ores; a second went down to Azura's Icy Spears, and Marcus hit the third with a dual-cast Ice Spike. It lobbed a fireball back at him, which exploded in a conflagration around him. The heat washed over Marcus, but his armor and ring took the brunt of the blast. Talvas gasped in alarm behind his ward spell.

Norokah wheeled in midair and belched out another blizzard of snow at the ash spawn, and it crumbled into dust. Marcus dutifully sifted through to find the gems and ores the spawn usually hid in their remains.

"Talvas!" Azura exclaimed, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I think so, Azura," he nodded, shaken and wide-eyed. "I was just out here practicing when they suddenly attacked. I have no idea where they came from. This isn't the first time we've been attacked here at Tel Mithryn, either."

"I don't remember this happening before," Azura frowned.

"The attacks have all been recent, since you left," Talvas explained. "Master Neloth could tell you more, I'm sure. Right now, I think I need a drink. That was too close for comfort!"

Azura shook her head as Talvas headed up the ramp into the main part of Tel Mithryn.

"He's a mage," Marcus suggested quietly. "Why didn't he fight back?"

Azura sighed. "Talvas was never trained as a battlemage," she shrugged. "When something would attack us on the way to or from Raven Rock, like reavers, ash spawn or spriggans, he would just freeze up. It was like everything he knew how to do just went completely out of his mind. He's really more of a research mage. He knows quite a lot, and is a master conjurer."

"He just can't put it into practice, is that it?" Marcus surmised.

Azura nodded. "Pretty much. I can't remember how many times I've kept him out of harm's way. Come on, let's go talk to Neloth. I'm concerned about these ash spawn attacks. I thought we'd taken care of those when we killed General Carrius."

"Yeah, that _is_ rather troubling," Marcus agreed. "I wonder if Ildari has anything to do with this."

"I still don't understand how she can still be alive," Azura said, shaking her head. "I saw her get buried in the cemetery down by the shore. Still, if anyone knows how to get to the bottom of this, it will be Neloth."

Marcus allowed Norokah to leave in a flurry of ash and sand as they made their way inside. Neloth was waiting for them.

"Bother and damnation!" the Telvanni wizard fumed. "How am I supposed to get any meaningful research done with all these interruptions interfering? First my tower withers, then my Steward is attacked and now ash spawn are attacking my home directly! It's more than a wizard should be expected to bear!"

"Sounds like you've got some enemies," Marcus commented, moving carefully away from the edge of the landing.

"Enemies?" snorted Neloth. "Oh, yes, I have enemies. _Legions_ of them back in Morrowind. However, in this case, I have reason to believe it is someone in Solstheim."

"This is why he wears the master's robes," Marcus whispered to Azura, who stifled a giggle under Neloth's piercing glare.

"I suppose you want us to eliminate them?" Marcus offered. In all honesty, he really only wanted to explore the Black Books, but if Tel Mithryn was under siege, that compromised his and Azura's safety while they were in Apocrypha.

"Not yet," Neloth replied, surprising them. "That may come later. First, I need to identify the culprit. I've enchanted this ring to find the source of the attacks. Here," he said to Azura, handing it to her. "Take it. I've enchanted it with a bit of ash from the last ash spawn attack, so it should lead you to the source of the summonings."

"How close do we have to get?" Azura asked.

Neloth's face grew thoughtful. "Well, the link is weak," he admitted, "so you'll have to be within about a hundred feet or so of the source. Just walk around the grounds out there while wearing the ring. Something _should_ come up."

Azura cocked an eyebrow at Marcus, who shrugged. "We've still got plenty of daylight," he said. "We might as well see what we can find out."

It didn't take them long to cover the environs of Tel Mithryn. Azura led Marcus around the Steward's quarters and the kitchens, and back to Elynea's apothecary, where they returned the taproots Marcus had soaked in the headwaters of the Harstrad River.

"Well done," the mycologist praised them. "At least I can get him off my back for now. I'll just keep two of these for myself. No need for Himself to know about it. Just plant that last one in the withered spot in the wall of his house. That should fix it up right."

As they left Elynea's shop, Marcus remembered something Azura mentioned earlier.

"Where's the graveyard you talked about a little bit ago?" he asked.

"Why?" the Bosmer mage inquired.

"Just a hunch," Marcus replied. "I don't want to rule out any possible locations unless we've personally checked them out."

"We haven't had any luck any place else we've looked," Azura shrugged. "We might as well look there."

She led the way down the hill to the shore where a few stunted trees struggled to maintain a hold on the ashy sand. Marcus noted at once that the coffins here were above ground, much as they had been in New Orleans, back in Gaea. This was due, of course, to the water table being so close to the surface. Digging down into the sand and ash to bury a coffin would have resulted in nothing more than a hole filling up with water.

The fireball came at them suddenly as an ash spawn pulled itself out of the ground. Azura sent a wave of Ice Storm its way and it shuddered into dust.

"I'm certainly glad you're on _my_ side!" Marcus grinned.

A glimmer of blue light came from one of the coffins as they neared the entrance to the small cemetery, and Azura turned to her companion.

"Did you see that?" she asked in dismay.

"Yeah, I saw it," Marcus answered. "What's the problem?"

Azura's face was a study of consternation and horror. "That was Ildari's grave," she whispered. "It's not possible!"

"I think we'll need some confirmation here," Marcus said, grabbing the lid.

Azura shut her eyes tightly as he opened it, but curiosity overcame her revulsion and she cracked one eyelid open. Both eyes widened in surprise.

"It's empty!" she exclaimed, horrified.

"Not quite," Marcus demurred, pulling out a staff and a reddish-gray nodule about the size of a bowling ball. "What _is_ this thing?"

"It's a heart stone," Azura whispered. "It's what Neloth and Ildari were experimenting with. I think we need to head back. Neloth has some explaining to do."

"I couldn't agree more," Marcus confirmed.

The trip back was silent and somber. Azura seemed lost in her own thoughts, and Marcus was reluctant to disturb them. Back inside Tel Mithryn, she hurried over to the withered spot in the wall to install the taproot while Marcus confronted the Master Wizard.

"We found these in a grave down at the cemetery," Marcus announced, handing over the staff and the heart stone. "Azura says it was Ildari Sarothril's grave."

For the first time since Marcus had become acquainted with the Telvanni wizard, a look of shock, disbelief and embarrassment crossed the old Dunmer's face.

"Ildari?" he breathed. "Then it's my own fault."

"Why don't you tell me what happened," Marcus invited, not really expecting the mage to comply, but again, Neloth surprised him.

"She was my…apprentice, before Talvas," he confessed, "after Azura had completed her tenure with me. Azura stayed on as an assistant, but she pursued her own studies. Ildari was bright, young and eager to learn. She was more willing to help me in some of the riskier aspects of magic—"

"She was willing to be your test subject, you mean," Azura called from the other side of the room. "Don't sugar-coat it, Neloth."

"Alright, fine, then!" he fumed. "She allowed me to experiment upon her, which Azura was reluctant to do. Ildari volunteered for one of my experiments involving heart stones."

"What were you trying to do?" Marcus asked, not liking where this was heading.

"It's all rather complicated," Neloth dismissed, "but the general idea was to try to replace a living heart with a heart stone. My necropsies with spriggans led me to believe that a heart stone could be implanted in a person's chest, granting them great power, much like the Forsworn of Skyrim have been able to do with their Briarhearts."

"You can't be serious!" Azura gasped. "So _that's_ what the two of you were doing! I never knew!"

"You weren't willing to help," Neloth said blandly, "so I saw no reason to confide my research to you. I was considering replacing my own heart with a heart stone, but fortunately Ildari offered to let me operate on her first."

"You _do_ realize that the Matriarchs of the Reach invoke the old magics of the old gods when they do those ceremonies, don't you?" Marcus demanded.

"I didn't know," Neloth admitted. "Not then. I sent Talvas out to the Reach several months ago to find a Briarheart and observe their behavior."

"Almosht got me killedz," Talvas slurred from his table in the corner. Three empty mead bottles sat in front of him, and he was working on a fourth. "Don' know what I did, but I gotta heart."

"Hmm, yes," Neloth nodded. "Talvas' encounter was extremely helpful in my research, and the briarheart he brought back was invaluable in discerning where my experiment with heart stones had failed. I know now that I did the surgery all wrong." He sighed. "I'm sorry about Ildari, but hopefully she found some peace in death."

"Uh, yeah…as to that," Marcus interjected. "Ildari's grave was empty. The staff and the stone were the only things in it."

"What?" Neloth's head snapped up so quickly Marcus wondered how it didn't fly off his shoulders. "That's impossible!" the old wizard muttered. "Unless…unless she didn't actually die!" Neloth began pacing back and forth, excitedly, as he worked his way through the information. "The heart stone could have kept her right at the edge of life and death," he postulated. "Could it be? Could Ildari still be alive?" A tone of anger inserted itself into his monologue. "Could _she_ be my nemesis?" He seemed to realize that Marcus and Azura were still waiting and watching. "Wait a moment, while I cast a more specific divination."

With that, he moved a few chairs and tables from an area about ten feet across. He closed his eyes in concentration while Azura pulled Marcus back a little further from the edge of the casting space. The Telvanni wizard threw himself into gyrations, building up the power within him, and suddenly spread his arms wide as light burst forth, centered on the old Dunmer mage. His eyes opened, but were completely filled with that same light, and when his mouth opened, a completely different voice spoke, that Marcus recalled with a shock he had heard once before in Sovngarde. It was the voice of Arkay.

" _Ildari Sarothril lives,"_ the God of Death intoned, the voice echoing around the chamber. _"Seek her in Highpoint Tower."_

With that, the aetherial light faded and Neloth stood, albeit a bit wobbly, in the area he had cleared, breathing hard. He turned to face Marcus and Azura.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded irritably. "Go. Rip that thrice-cursed heart stone from her chest, or there will never be another moment's peace here at Tel Mithryn!"

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up Marcus and Azura deal with Solstheim's version of Lady Stoneheart (Game of Thrones reference for you all), before diving back into the Black Books. Thank you, everyone, for favoriting this story and for following along with me.]_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

As Marcus and Azura left Tel Mithryn, a figure ran up to them.

"Marcus of Whiterun?" the courier gasped. "I've got something for you, your eyes only."

"Don't tell me—" Marcus groaned.

"It's another letter from that Ralis fellow," the young Dunmer said, frowning as he handed over the parchment. "Look, this is the last one I'm delivering for him. That place is just too much for me!" With his duty discharged, the courier took off at a dead run, heading back to Raven Rock.

"What does he say?" Azura asked. Marcus held the note gingerly, as if expecting it to bite him.

"I'm afraid to open it," he confessed. "I already kind of know what to expect by now."

"We might as well get it over with," Azura said, taking the note and opening it. She read it aloud.

"'You're needed.' Huh, that's all it says," she reported. Marcus took the letter and turned it over. There was nothing else on the parchment.

"Which did you want to do first?" Azura asked. "Deal with Ralis or deal with Ildari?"

"That's like asking if I prefer a sword to the gut or chug a bottle of poison," Marcus grimaced. "Neither one is preferable." He blew out a breath. "Whatever Ralis needs can wait a bit," he decided. "He'll only want to soak me for more septims. I'm about done with him anyway."

"I was done with him after my first trip there," Azura scowled. "But that was your choice to continue."

"I know, I know," Marcus replied, exasperated. "Live and learn, I guess. In any case, let's take care of Ildari first, then we'll head over to Kolbjorn and I'll cut my losses with Ralis."

He turned and summoned Norokah, and while waiting for the dragon to arrive, he and Azura pored over the map to locate Highpoint Tower. It was in the central part of Solstheim, almost directly east of Raven Rock, in the foothills. There weren't very many flat places a dragon could touch down, but Norokah got them as close as he could and they walked in the rest of the way.

The ash spawn rose up immediately to greet them, and Marcus elected to stretch his arcane muscles on this trip. He bellowed out his Frost Breath and followed it with a battery of Ice Spikes. Azura sent out another wave of her Ice Storm spell, and the ash spawn succumbed and fell apart.

"You really need to teach me that one!" Marcus grinned.

"How about right now?" Azura suggested. "It's an Adept-level spell, like Fireball or Chain Lightning, but I think you're up to it now. Our enemies have been getting tougher, after all, and you need to learn the higher-level spells."

Right there on the steps of Highpoint Tower, she took the time to teach him the three spells, and Marcus could feel his magicka pool expand as he used the spells on their way into the ruined fortress. While he was only able to get one or two shots off before having to fall back on his weapons, he knew that steady practice would allow him to maintain the arcane assault for longer periods of time. This was what Akatosh had ordered, and what Tamsyn had tried to get him to do ever since they came to Skyrim, and he was sorry now that he hadn't applied himself more diligently. He intended to make up for that lost time.

In one room of the Tower, lying on a wooden table, they found a journal, similar to the one left behind in Fort Frostmoth.

"This is Ildari's writing, certainly," Azura commented, leafing through it. "She doesn't sound…stable," she added, confused. "Something must have happened when Neloth experimented on her."

"Let me see that," Marcus said, and read the journal aloud.

" _The fools have taken me in. Weak, pathetic men intent on looting this ancient fortress with their crude mining. Niyya is pleasant enough. I may choose to spare her when the time comes._

" _I'm still weak from Neloth's betrayal. He promised me power and glory. He failed to mention the constant pain. And the voices. By the three, I would do anything to not hear the voices._

" _When my strength returns, I will have my vengeance upon my former master. I can feel the power of the heart stone beating inside me. I need to find a way to tap into its power. Then he shall pay in blood and fire and ash."_

Marcus closed the book thoughtfully. "It does sound like she's slipped a groove," he nodded.

"'Slipped a groove'?" Azura queried, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

"Ah…how shall I put this?" Marcus pondered. "The butter has slipped off her noodles. Her lift doesn't go all the way to the top. The lights are on but nobody's home." His grin grew wider as Azura shook her head in non-comprehension. "She's gone nuts," he clarified. "Crazy. Her mind has snapped."

"Alright, _that_ I understand." She shook her head again, mystified. "You are a strange man, Marcus Dragonborn."

He chuckled. "That's what keeps my enemies on their toes," he grinned. "What this tells me, though, is that we're not dealing with a rational person. Ildari seems to have put all the blame for her troubles on Neloth's shoulders."

"Well, she's not completely wrong," Azura replied. "I know she volunteered, but still – Neloth never tells you the risks you take, allowing him to experiment on you. If you're lucky, they're only inconvenient."

"Ildari wasn't lucky," Marcus nodded. "And that's made her bitter and vengeful. We'll have to watch our step here. Shall we push on?"

His companion nodded, and they crept along the corridors, working their way towards their quarry.

The next large chamber they came to was filled with spiderwebs, and large, pulsing egg sacs that were all too familiar to the pair.

"More of those damned jumping spiders," Marcus grumbled. "I'd rather not fight them. Can we take them out from here?" he asked.

"Use your Icy Spears," Azura advised. "Those look like flaming jumping spider sacks, if I'm not mistaken."

She wasn't. The first shot Marcus sent towards one of the egg sacks burst it open, and the spider leaped out, ready to jump into the face of whoever so rudely ejected it from its comfortable cushion. The second shot, however, pierced the spider clean through, and it shriveled and dissolved into a small puddle of sticky goo.

Between the two of them, it was the matter of only a few minutes clearing the room so they could advance. To their left were two tunnels, set close together. To their right, a worked stone corridor led off to the north. Marcus stared distastefully at the tunnels.

"Do we really need to go in there?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Azura replied. "The corridor would seem to be our best choice. But I see a spellcaster trap down that way. And there's at least one or two geodes in the tunnel that I can see from here."

"What's special about the geodes?" Marcus asked.

"They always give up a gemstone," Azura explained.

Marcus sighed. "Well, I wouldn't be an adventurer if I didn't explore _everything,"_ he conceded. "And I've said more than once that being the Dragonborn doesn't come with a steady paycheck. Let's check out the tunnel."

The tunnel contained several various gemstone geodes which could be mined out, but first they had to deal with the spiders. Marcus sent an Icy Storm roiling after one that shrugged it off. A misty white fog _poofed_ around it when his spell hit.

"Use fire on that one, Marcus!" Azura called. "Not the fireball!" she amended quickly as he brought fire into his hands. "It's too close in here. The Firebolt should suffice!"

Quickly recalculating the amount of damage he wished to do, he hit the spider with a Firebolt and watched with satisfaction as its skittered across the chamber and down an earthen ramp to a lower level.

Azura sent her spells after two more crawling up to them from the right. From somewhere down the path on both sides of the small chamber they heard a schlurping sound that Azura said indicated more spider sacs down below. They separated and headed down either side, but Marcus wasn't as quiet as Azura, and one of the sacs burst open as he approached. The flaming spider leaped on him, exploding as it did so.

"Gods dammit!" he bit out, firing off a healing spell. "I hate those things!"

The gems yielded by the geodes mollified him somewhat as they cleared the tunnel and chamber and returned to the main portion of the ruins.

"I have an idea how to get past the spellcaster trap," Azura said. "If you're willing to be the test subject, that is."

"Oh?" Marcus lifted an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"If you could use that Stop Time Shout of yours, you could run down there and grab the soul gem before it has a chance to fire at us."

"Technically it only slows time," Marcus smiled. "It doesn't actually stop it. But that's a great idea. We've got nothing to lose by trying."

As it turned out, Slow Time didn't help him very much. The trap still sensed something coming and unleashed its full force in the form of a very painful lightning bolt. Marcus' ring only protected him from fire and frost. It didn't help against electricity. Tamsyn had made an amulet for him, but he often forgot to put it on, favoring his Talos amulet instead.

"Sonofabitch!" he gritted out, feeling the tightness in his muscles as his hands closed over the soul gem just as it ripped out the spell.

When time resumed around him, Azura was concerned. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I really thought I was on to something."

"Not your fault," he grimaced. "It was my mistake. I should have gotten behind the thing before I attempted to grab it. Live and learn."

They continued along the corridor, which seemed to have suffered the worst in the tower's collapse. Tumbled stones, fallen from the ceiling, lay everywhere, and the inevitable sand and ash had drifted in here. Azura pointed out another spellcaster trap further ahead, and Marcus nodded, but pointed to a doorway on the left side. There was a table near the door with a lit lantern sitting on it, and he put his finger to his lips, dropping to a crouch. Azura followed quietly in his wake.

Peering around the corner of the doorway, Marcus could see at once that the room was in bad shape. A large wooden scaffold supported the roof, which looked to be in danger of falling in any moment. It made him nervous, but he moved into the chamber anyway with Azura close behind him.

Movement to their right alerted them to the ash spawn pulling itself out of the drifts of debris. This time it was Marcus who got the Ice Storm off first, and Azura beamed approvingly.

"Two more, behind the scaffold," she alerted him, finishing off the first one with an Icy Spear.

Marcus sent out another wave of frost, feeling his magicka tap out completely, but it was enough to slow the spawn as they sluggishly came around the corner of the scaffold. Azura launched her own battery of icicles at them as Marcus drew Dragonbane and advanced on the closest spawn. He blocked the blow coming at him from the creature's hardened ash sword, but took its fire attack full in the face, barely closing his eyes in time.

Blindly, he swung the Akaviri blade at the last place the spawn had been and felt it connect. A sizzling sound told him he'd been successful as the spawn crumbled away. Hissing himself, he fired off a healing spell.

"Are you alright?" Azura asked.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I guess my spells aren't strong enough to take them out in one shot."

"You'll get better," she assured him. "Just keep practicing."

They left the chamber and continued down the corridor, towards the second spellcasting trap. This time Marcus timed his Shout and his run to end up behind the soul gem before it fired, and was able to pick it clean from its holder.

Beyond this point the corridor turned east before descending several feet and ending at a large, circular room.

"Watch out for the tripwire," Marcus warned Azura.

"I see it," she replied. "What does it go to?"

Marcus looked around the room and followed the trigger back to the trap, then pointed overhead. A deadfall of boulders had been set up, so that anyone setting off the trap would be pulverized as they entered the chamber.

"Well, that would be unpleasant," Azura deadpanned. "I think it's safe to say we can get around that, though. It's not a very effective trap."

"I'm not sure it was meant for us," Marcus said. "I wonder if it might have been intended to trap the ash spawn?"

"It's possible," Azura nodded. "Ildari's journal mentioned something about people living here, who rescued her. They might have set this up when she started sending the spawn against them."

"We'll have to be extra careful," Marcus agreed. "They might think we've come here to loot the place as well."

"They're not wrong," Azura said, quirking a grin. "But we have another agenda going as well." She sobered at the thought.

"Let's keep moving," Marcus said. "Stay alert."

He stepped around the tripwire and would have continued straight across the room, but suddenly Azura hauled back on his arm.

"Azura! What—"

"Watch out!" she cried. "Stupid of me! I should have seen that to begin with!"

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, confused.

"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing to the floor.

His eyes followed the trajectory, and now he saw it. Lost in the shadows, a rune glowed faintly red on the dusty floor.

"Holy crap," Marcus muttered. "I almost walked right into that one!"

"It's a Fire Rune," Azura said, examining it carefully from a distance.

"Thanks for having my back," Marcus breathed gratefully. "That would have hurt!"

"It would have hurt both of us," Azura nodded. "That's a powerful one, but I can detonate it if we step back."

"Won't that release the deadfall?" he asked.

Azura shrugged. "Probably, but this rune is so big we can't get around it. I'll have to set it off. Besides, once the rocks have fallen, we won't have to worry about that anymore."

They withdrew back down the corridor from which they had come, and Marcus watched as Azura launched a Firebolt straight into the middle of the rune, setting it off. As predicted, the tripwire to the deadfall snapped, and the boulders came thundering down. The combination of flames and dust filled the room, obscuring their vision for several minutes until the conflagration subsided. When they reentered the room, anything combustible had been consumed.

"Glad we didn't have to endure _that_ ," Marcus commented. "And I hope we don't run into any more of those things."

Azura found a few smaller soul gems – empty, of course – near a scorched arcane enchanter in one corner of the room. Other than that, there was little remaining. A corridor continued east out of the room, but ended shortly after in a T-intersection with a hallway that ran north and south. Plastered on the wall facing them was another rune. This one glowed blue-white.

"Lightning?" Marcus asked, and his companion nodded. "Okay, I think I've got this one. Let's pull back a bit."

It took him two attempts. His precision with spells needed a little refining, but he hit the rune and set it off, ribbons of electricity streaming out from the wall and dancing up and down the corridor. When it subsided, they approached the intersection. To the north the corridor moved past a fallen brazier before bending east again. To the south, an area opened up flanked with iron prison cells.

"Is somebody there?" a panicked voice called. It was a woman. "Someone, please help me!"

Quickly, Marcus and Azura entered the room to find only one living person remaining in the cells.

"Oh, thank the gods you've come!" the Redguard woman cried. "That witch was going to kill me soon, I just know it!"

Azura quickly got the lock open and cast a healing spell on the woman, who said her name was Niyya.

"What happened here, Niyya?" Marcus asked kindly, handing her a flask of wine and some food from his pack. The Redguard girl tore into the food ravenously.

"We were digging in these mines when she found us," Niyya told them between bites. "She was hurt so bad. She told us her name was Ildari. We took pity on her and nursed her back to health." Here Niyya scowled. "She repaid our kindness by attacking us in the middle of the night. Those of us that didn't die were made prisoners."

"Where are the other prisoners?" Azura asked. Niyya pointed to the bones in the other cages.

"You're looking at what's left of them," she said angrily. "They were my friends, my companions! She…did things to them. Horrible things. Experiments...and worse. I'm the last one. The others are all dead now." Her face grew thunderous as she intoned, "If you find her, don't make her end quick!"

"What will you do now?" Azura asked with sympathy.

"First, I'm going to leave this place, as fast as I can," Niyya said firmly. "Then I'm going to get on the first boat to the mainland. Good luck to you!"

They gave her enough supplies to get her to Raven Rock. Marcus apologized for not having a weapon to give her, but Niyya gave a faint smile. "I know magic," she said. "I'll be fine. Thank you for helping me."

With that, she took off at a dead run, headed out of Highpoint Tower.

"Marcus," Azura said quietly as they watched her leave. "I found another of Ildari's journals here, on this table."

"What does this one say?" he asked. He wasn't certain he really wanted to know. Ildari had already forfeited any chance at redemption, as far as he was concerned. Too many deaths lay at her door.

" _I am stronger now,"_ they read. _"The heart stone kept me alive after Neloth's butchery. I can feel the bones in the ash calling to me. I can call back to them too. With the heart stone I can bind the spirits to bone and ash and raise a servant to do my bidding._

" _Tonight I will seize control. These miners and fortune seekers are pawns of Neloth. I can feel them staring at me. I'm sure they are sending him messages, reporting on my every move. The only ones I can trust are the voices. They've never lied to me. They've shown me that these fools plan to betray me, just like Neloth._

" _When they are all asleep, I will raise my ash spawn. Their brute of a leader will die first. I can see the lust in his heart. He may act all kind and generous, but I know what he wants, what they all want. They want the heart stone._

" _I'll keep a few prisoners. I need test subjects for my experiments. There is more that the heart stone can do. I just need to try out a few ideas."_

Azura scowled. "These poor people had nothing to do with Neloth!" she exclaimed. "How could Ildari think that?"

"I think she was losing her grip on reality," Marcus said. "That heart stone may be keeping her alive, but at the cost of her sanity. The sooner we end this, the better."

"Agreed," Azura said unhappily. "Ildari was my friend, once, but I don't even know who she is anymore. She's not the person I once knew."

"I'm sorry for that," Marcus said sincerely. "Come on, we still have a way to go to get to her."

Azura nodded soberly and they headed along the northeastern corridor. It ended in a stone wall that had been broken through at some point in the past. Beyond the wall, Marcus and Azura saw a packed-dirt path leading down a tunnel hewn out of the rock and sediment.

"It looks like older ruins under here," Azura commented, and Marcus nodded. He'd seen this many times in some of the barrows and Dwemer ruins he'd been in.

It wasn't long before the path became a series of ramps leading further down into the excavation. This must have been where Niyya and her fellow miners had been working. Indeed, Marcus noted the orichalcum veins as they explored the upper level of ramps. Those didn't lead anywhere, however, and the two were forced to backtrack the way they had come and descend further down to the cave floor. There was more ore here, and some of it was gold.

"Well, now, I don't often come across _this_ ," Marcus chirruped happily. He made a mental note to come back and dig out what he could once they were done.

The cavern was huge, and a large pillar flanked with scaffolding and a ramp in the center of the cave led to the upper level, but again, there wasn't much here that either cared to take the time to dig out. At the far end it narrowed a bit, but opened into another, larger chamber.

It was clear someone had been at work here. Though scaffolding cluttered one side of the chamber, the center was dominated by a large, circular stone dais, surrounded by three pillars of worked white stone. Permanent mage lights blazed at the top of each pillar, clearly illuminating the area, and reaching well up to the stone ceiling overhead. On the dais prowled a storm Atronach, and Marcus groaned inwardly. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to get past it.

As they watched, ash spawn dragged themselves from the drifts of debris on the floor, and Marcus gave an exasperated snort.

"Not taking any chances, is she?" he muttered.

"She's definitely paranoid that someone will come after her, that's for sure," Azura agreed. "How did you want to handle this?"

"Well I certainly don't want to go toe-to-toe with the Atronach," he said sourly. "I can handle the ash spawn if you can get rid of Sparky, there."

"I'm on it," Azura promised. "I've got Zahkriisos' mask." She threw off an invisibility spell, and Marcus lost track of her. The hard ground did not yield footprints. Deciding he'd better pull the spawn away, he rummaged in his belt pouch and found the potion he was looking for, downing it in one chug. As the fire resistance potion took effect, he stood up from his crouch and called out.

"Hey, Cinderfellas! Over here!"

As one, the spawn moved in his direction, searching. When they spotted him two of them drew long, serrated polearms resembling letter openers, but on a much larger scale, and advanced on him. The other two held back and launched fireballs in his direction. Between the potion, his ring and his armor, very little of the flames got through, and Marcus cast the Ice Storm with one hand at the group while preparing to meet their blade assault with Dragonbane.

His frost spell, however, wasn't nearly as powerful as Azura's had been, and while it did some damage, it didn't really slow them down very much. From the tail of his eye he saw the Atronach being drawn in the other direction, and hoped Azura would be all right.

The first spawn closed with him, with the second not far behind. They attempted to flank him, but he pulled himself further back into the tunnel to avoid this. The bladed weapons they used reminded Marcus of a glaive, but with a channel of fire running down the middle of it, and encrusted with hardened ash. He ducked under the first swipe and riposted with Dragonbane. The electricity in the Akaviri blade sizzled as it crunched through the outer layer of the spawn, and the creature jerked spasmodically in reaction. It sank to its knees as Marcus brought his blade up to block the blow from the second spawn. With his offhand he shot an Ice Spike directly into the second spawn's face and gave a feral grin as the shambling mound staggered. Whirling, he felt the percussion of another fireball explode nearby, but he let the momentum of his spin carry him around to slice the head off the first spawn, which crumbled into its component parts.

The second spawn recovered and jabbed forward with its bladed spear. Marcus saw the attack coming and twisted out of the way, but one of the spawn lobbing fire at him caught him in the middle of its blast. Blindly, Marcus tumbled further back along the tunnel to get out of range. His eyes stung and watered from the close call with fire, and he was certain his hair was singed. At least, he knew he smelled something akin to burning feathers – something his opponents definitely lacked. He sent another wave of Ice Storm down the tunnel towards the three clustered at its mouth, and saw with satisfaction that the one with the glaive was finished. That only left the two spellcasters.

He knew he didn't have enough magicka to send another Ice Storm their way, but he could see they had been affected by it. It was time to try something daring and desperate.

Firing off a healing spell, Marcus crouched and waited to see if the spawn would lose track of him in the dim tunnel. Unfortunately, they knew exactly where he was. The next fireball was practically on top of him. It hurt more than the others, and he knew the potion had run its course. Tumbling quickly out of the passageway, Marcus allowed himself to move right up to the spawn. His reasoning was similar to the logic he used against liches: if he was right on top of them, they wouldn't be able to use their spells effective.

It worked. Though immune to their own fire, the spawn seemed unable to target him so close to their position, and Marcus slashed at one with Dragonbane while shooting the other with two Ice Spikes in rapid succession. In a matter of moments, they both went down, and Marcus sifted through their remains.

Azura slipped Zahkriisos over her head and crept around the perimeter of the cavern until she reached the foot of the ramp, or scaffold, or whatever rose up on the far side of the chamber. Only then did she drink the potion of shock resistance she'd brought and drew Grave. Sting, with its shock enchantment, would do her no good here. The Dragon Priest's eponymous mask, however, would give her further protection from shock-based attacks, she knew, as well as offer her additional protection.

To that end, in her offhand she called up Icy Spears and sent two towards the Atronach to get its attention. As it moved her way, she sent an Ice Storm after it and crept up the ramp behind her. The Atronach slammed its stone-like appendages together, directing a channel of lightning straight towards her. Nimble as a deer, she leaped out of the way, moving further up the scaffold. The whirling maelstrom of rocks and lightning followed her, and at the first corner she lashed out with Grave, smirking when she saw it stagger. She followed this with another Ice Storm, and the Atronach slumped a bit before launching another shock attack her way. In the tight confines of the ramps, she couldn't avoid this one without going over the rail, and gritted her teeth against the attack.

Forcing her muscles to move, Azura thanked the gods that the shock resistance potion was as strong as she could make it as she climbed higher up the ramps. The Atronach followed and once more she threw another Ice Storm down on its head. This time the shocking cyclone backed off; apparently, she had done enough damage to make it want to recover before finishing her off. She knew she couldn't give it that chance.

She advanced back down the ramp and dodged the next lightning bolt, coming in close and stabbing with Grave. The sword connected with something in the ambulatory storm, because it staggered once more and with one final swipe of the Stahlrim blade, it fell apart, rattling down the ramp. Azura skipped after it to claim as much of the residue void salts it left behind as she could.

Looking up, she noticed Marcus approaching, scorch marks all over the dragonbone armor, but the Dragonborn himself didn't look much worse for wear.

"Is that it, then?" Azura asked.

"Let me take a look," Marcus hesitated, and sent out his Aura Whisper. Glowing red blobs remained unmoving some distance ahead of them. One, however, furthest away, seemed to be pacing back and forth.

"I think I found Ildari," he said quietly, "but there's still more spawn between us and her."

"As long as you know where they are, we'll take them out," Azura said confidently.

It went better than either hoped. Marcus used his _thu'um_ to find the buried spawn, and together the two of them beat the abominations back into the ashes. The final large chamber, however, was on two levels, with a balcony over their heads that partially hid the second level opposite them. Marcus stepped cautiously out to get a better look, then immediately wished he hadn't, as a spell-casting trap sent a fireball in his direction. The conflagration took him by surprise, and only his armor and enchanted ring kept the damage from being worse.

Hissing in pain, he withdrew, but the figure on the mezzanine above was already alerted.

"Is somebody there?" a woman's voice called, and Azura's swiftly-indrawn breath told Marcus she had finally accepted the truth: that Ildari Sarothril was still alive.

Realizing their cover was well and truly blown, Marcus called out.

"Ildari Sarothril," he intoned, "I'm ordering you to cease and desist all acts of aggression against the settlement and residents of Tel Mithryn."

" _You_ order _me?"_ she spluttered. "And just who in Oblivion are _you_ to tell me what to do?"

He could hear her moving across the floor above and opposite them, searching. The overhang that blocked his view of her also prevented her from seeing them.

"I'm Marcus of Whiterun," he answered, "called Dragonborn. Stop sending your ash spawn against Tel Mithryn _now!"_

"Ildari," his companion called, "it's me, Azura. Please, stop what you're doing! This isn't like you!"

"A-Azura?" Ildari faltered. "What are you—"

A shred of hope flared in Marcus. Ildari seemed genuinely disturbed by the presence of the Bosmer girl.

"How did you—"

"Please, Ildari," Azura pleaded. "You know me. We've always been friends. You're not just hurting Neloth by your actions. Varona was nearly killed by ash spawn the other day, and Talvas was attacked this morning."

"I don't know who Talvas is," Ildari said, flatly.

"He came after you," Azura began, but Ildari cut her off.

"After!" Ildari gave a bitter laugh that had no humor in it. "Yes, _after_ Neloth ruined my life and threw me into perpetual pain!"

"Ildari, be fair," Azura persuaded. "You volunteered. You could have said no."

"He never told me about the pain," Ildari went on, as if Azura hadn't spoken. "He never told me about the voices! But I learned…and now I'm more powerful than Neloth ever was!"

"This isn't going well," Marcus murmured to Azura, and she gave a desperate shrug.

"Ildari," Azura tried once more, _"please_ stop this madness! Neloth admitted he was at fault. Let him apologize—"

" _Apologize?!"_ Ildari shrieked. "You think a simple 'I'm sorry' is going to make up for the years of torture I've endured?"

Another fireball exploded around them, and it didn't come from the spell-caster trap. But the flames washed harmlessly around them, the overhang protecting them from the worst of it.

"It's not enough, Azura!" Ildari screamed. "You're too late. _Neloth will die by my hand!"_

"Oh, dear," Azura gasped.

"Okay, we've tried diplomacy," Marcus murmured. "I appreciate the effort, Azura. I thought you had her there, for a moment."

"As did I," Azura sighed sadly.

"Keep talking to her. Keep her attention focused on you."

"What are you going to do?" Azura asked.

"Work my way up there to take her out," he replied. His firm tone brooked no argument, and Azura hung her head.

"I understand," she whispered.

While Azura continued to plead with Ildari, Marcus crept towards an alcove with stairs leading up on the far side of the room. It meant coming out from under the overhang, but he hoped Azura would keep the crazed sorceress above from seeing him.

Ildari didn't see him, but the spell-casting trap did, and launched another fireball his way. He made it around the corner just in time.

At the top of the stairs he paused. To get to Ildari he would have to cross the distance of the balcony under which Azura hid, cross the stone catwalk and close the distance on the other side. Even with all three words of the Slow Time Shout, he knew he wouldn't make it across in time. This would require stealth, something at which Marcus knew he was decidedly inferior.

There wasn't much cover here – a few barrels, and the railing of the mezzanine itself. That was it. It would have to be enough. Not for the first time, Marcus wished he had taken some tips from Brynjolf or Dante about moving around unseen and unheard. But that would have required lighter armor, and he liked the security of the solid dragonplate encasing him.

Creeping out slowly, keeping the barrels and the railings between himself and Ildari as much as possible, Marcus moved towards the catwalk. Ildari was still running back and forth, trying to see under the balcony on Marcus' side of the room. A _ping_ went off to his right, across the gulf, and he saw the soul gem in the spell-casting trap ricochet across the chamber. A stahlrim arrow clattered to the edge of the mezzanine on Ildari's side, and she ran to investigate.

 _Thank you, Azura!_ Marcus thought with gratitude. That made his job just that much easier. He was at the catwalk now, and felt close enough to enact the second part of his objective.

" _TIID KLO UL!"_

The _thu'um_ reverberated around the chamber, and everything around Marcus slowed to almost a standstill. He straightened and made a mad dash across the stone catwalk and across the mezzanine to Ildari. She was slowly turning her head towards the sound of his Shout and began raising her hands to cast a spell where Marcus had been, a heartbeat before.

Thinking quickly, the Dragonborn grabbed some leather strips from a nearby table and wrenched Ildari's hands around behind her and tied them firmly. Another long strip bound her feet, and he caught her as she toppled forward and lowered her to the ground, just as the _thu'um_ wore off.

" _Aiee!"_ the crazed sorceress screamed in frustration, finding herself suddenly trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"Azura, it's safe now," Marcus called. "Come on up here."

"You bastard!" Ildari screeched. "You'll pay for this!"

"I don't think so," Marcus said blandly. "And my parents were married for over forty years, so your first comment is erroneous."

"Azura!" the Dunmer said now, turning pleading eyes to the Bosmer. "Help me! You were my friend! You said it yourself!"

"I'm still your friend," Azura said, her face a mask of compassion. "And that's why I'm doing this. The heart stone turned you into this…this abomination bent on revenge. The Ildari I knew never would have wanted to become what you are now." She drew an ebony knife. "I'm sorry, Ildari. But this has to end."

Before she could change her mind, she plunged the dagger into the Dunmer mage's chest, feeling it scrape on the bones of the rib cage.

Ildari shrieked one last time and stiffened as Azura plunged her hand in and under the ribs to find the stone.

"Do it…my friend…" gasped Ildari. "End…the pain…for me…"

Green face paint smeared as tears coursed down the Bosmer girl's face. She gave a firm wrench and tore the still pulsing heart stone from Ildari's chest.

"…thank…you…"

Ildari slumped, and the light slowly faded from the heart stone. Azura sank to the floor and sobbed her own heart out. Marcus gathered her close and hugged her, patting her back until she finally – several minutes later – got herself under control.

"You did a brave thing," Marcus said quietly. "Not many people could do what you just did."

"I don't feel brave," Azura sniffled. "I know what Neloth did was wrong, and I would be angry with him over it. But he realizes that now and accepted responsibility for it, even if Ildari never knew that. And she's finally at peace now, and no longer in pain."

"I think the heart stone itself was controlling her," Marcus nodded. "When she realized it was finally over, and she couldn't win, the heart stone turned to you and attempted emotional blackmail. Ildari herself just wanted it to be over."

"I gave her that, at least," Azura said sadly. "We should do something here. We can't take her body back to Tel Mithryn; it's too far to carry her."

"Not by dragonback," Marcus smiled.

"I know," Azura nodded. "But somehow I don't think Neloth wants a constant reminder of his failure down at the cemetery. It wasn't so bad when he thought she died the first time. He never gave it a second thought. But it's different now. Ildari caused so much harm because of what he did. And Neloth is a proud mer. It's one of his greatest faults, as well as his greatest strength."

"We'll bury her here, then," Marcus said. "It shouldn't take too long, in the ashy soil outside. And may I say it's very compassionate of you to consider Neloth's feelings in this. Personally, I think maybe he needs that constant reminder that he's not as perfect as he thinks he is."

Azura shook her head. "Neloth knows he isn't perfect. He just doesn't dwell on it, or let it interfere in his research. He can't, you see. That kind of distraction causes self-doubt. Magic is, at its very core, not just thinking you can do something, or hoping or even _believing_ that you can make something happen. The greater part of magic is _knowing_ you can do what you set your mind to. Once you let self-doubt creep in, you might as well hang up your robes and swing a sword."

"Ouch," Marcus said wryly, but he said it with a smile. "I get your point." And he did. Much of what Azura had explained made a great deal of sense. Marcus realized this was part of what made mages like Tolfdir, Enthir, and especially his own wife Tamsyn so successful at what they did. And the epiphany came to him that he should view his own ability to cast magic the same way he viewed his Shouts. He did them, because he knew he could.

An hour later they had Ildari interred in a simple, unmarked grave outside of Highpoint Tower. No words were spoken; none were needed. Azura found a few straggling mountain flowers and set them on the mound, then the two left the Tower to head towards Kolbjorn Barrow for the final time.

"I need to let Ralis know I'm done with him," Marcus explained. "I got the Shout the last time we were there. I don't know why I let him talk me into completing the excavation."

"I can't believe we're letting him keep those artifacts," Azura grumbled. "He has no use for them himself, and his buyer back on the mainland hasn't coughed up the money to support the expedition. Those artifacts rightfully belong to you."

"I'm sure Ralis doesn't see it that way," Marcus said sourly. "He'd put it down to 'the cost of doing business,' or some crap like that."

The terrain here was very rocky and uneven. Marcus had decided not to call Norokah, because there was no wide, open area for the dragon to land. So it came as a shock for the two of them to crest a hill and see a dragon resting in the sun on a cluster of rocks on the other side. He was older than any dragon Marcus had seen, with the possible exception of Paarthurnax. He had no horns, but a frill of cartilage and scales flared out from the back of his head.

"Azura! Get behind me!" Marcus cried, drawing his sword and rushing forward down the hill.

" _Fey hein haal, Dovahkiin!"_ the ancient dragon called out, and Marcus stopped in his tracks, sliding several feet in the loose soil as he did so. _Stay your hand, Dragonborn!_

" _Hei mindok zey?"_ Marcus asked the dragon, perplexed. _You know me?_

" _Geh, Dovahkiin. Zu'u los Relonikiv._ I would speak with you."

"What is it you want, Relonikiv?" Marcus asked cautiously. He didn't sheath Dragonbane, and Azura kept ice and electricity in her hands from her position at the top of the ridge.

"My life, Dovahkiin," the dragon responded. "I know who you are. But I have recently returned to Nirn from Apocrypha, and I am too weak to give you the battle you deserve."

"Apocrypha?!" Marcus exclaimed. "You were there? With Miraak?"

" _Geh, Dovahkiin,"_ Relonikiv replied. "I was there for thousands of years with my _Thuri_ Miraak, until he sent me back to Nirn. It was…a foul place. It weakened me, and nearly took my _hadrim…_ my mind."

"Why did Miraak send you back?" Marcus asked, suspicion knitting his brow.

"He will soon be ready to return," the dragon replied. "He sent Kruzikrel and myself ahead of him, that we might not be trapped in Apocrypha once he left."

"That was actually rather nice of him," Azura commented, but she didn't relax her guard. "But that must have taken an enormous amount of power!"

"Indeed," Relonikiv admitted. "Without the help of the _Prok-Lahzey_ , it would not have been possible."

Marcus pounced on that line. "You saw her there?" he demanded. "Tamsyn is there, with Miraak? Is he holding her prisoner?"

Relonikiv shook his head as a dog does coming out of the water. _"Niid, Dovahkiin._ Your _laasliin…_ your 'lifemate,' as we _dov_ say, works willingly with my Lord Miraak. They seek to return to Nirn together, and thwart the demon-prince Mora."

Marcus was confused. Tamsyn was working _with_ Miraak, not against him? Was there something he missed?

"And she was healthy when you saw her last?" he demanded of Relonikiv now.

"She was," the ancient dragon concurred, "but Apocrypha is working its twisted evil upon her as well." He paused, as if seeking the right words. "Perhaps she is feeling it worse because of her nature."

Marcus appreciated the dragon's discretion, if not his candor. So, he knew Tamsyn's secret, but chose not to divulge it. But the information was also alarming. It meant time was running out for his wife.

" _Zu'u ahreyn fin vahzen do hein rotmulag, Relonikiv,"_ he pronounced. _I appreciate the truth of your words._

"Then you will spare me, Dovahkiin?" the dragon inquired, the frill on the back of his head flaring in hope.

"Perhaps," Marcus replied wily. "Promise me you will not hunt the _joore,_ and grant me the deeper meaning of a Word of my choosing."

Relonikiv's frill fell, as he seemed to wrestle with his conscience for several heartbeats. Finally, he caved.

" _Geh, Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon capitulated. "You have my word. What _thu'um_ would you have from me?"

" _Dov,"_ Marcus said quickly.

Relonikiv's eyes narrowed. "You wish to bend the will of the _dov,"_ he surmised shrewdly. "I should reject this wish of yours," he continued, "but I am in your debt. Do not confess to Miraak that I gave you this knowledge."

"It will be our secret," Marcus promised, and closed his eyes as the knowledge poured into him. "Thank you, Relonikiv," he said sincerely. "I'm glad we didn't have to fight. You would be a worthy ally."

"I owe my allegiance to Miraak, Dovahkiin," the dragon said firmly. "But I too am glad I did not have to fight you this day. Farewell."

He didn't move from his spot, and Marcus knew it was because he was still too weak to make the effort. He motioned to Azura and they continued down the slope in the direction of Kolbjorn Barrow.

"What did he mean?" Azura asked as they walked along. "He said Tamsyn was working _with_ Miraak? He didn't turn her to his side, did he?"

"You don't know Tamsyn," Marcus chuckled, "or you would never have asked that. No, it's more likely _she_ has turned him to _her_ side, if I know her. What I can't figure out is _why?_ If Miraak has been the bane of the Skaal all these years, as Frea believes, why the sudden change of heart?"

"Maybe he's only pretending to side with your wife, in order to get out of Apocrypha," Azura suggested.

"And I'd believe you on that point," Marcus nodded. "Except for the fact that Tamsyn has always had…this uncanny ability to know when people are lying to her. She's very proficient at Divination, after all, and can usually figure out which path the future should take for the best possible results."

"Perhaps that's what she's doing here," Azura mused. "She's already seen something in Miraak the rest of us have missed because we aren't there."

"I hope you're right," was all Marcus said, before sinking into his own thoughts. The dilemma before him was confusing. On the one hand, Tamsyn was apparently helping Miraak to return to Nirn. On the other hand, Akatosh himself had told Marcus he needed to kill Miraak.

 _Or did he?_ Marcus wondered now. Casting his mind back to the last conversation he'd had with his patron, he concentrated on bringing the exact words to mind:

" _Miraak's power is growing,"_ the Dragon God of Time had told him. _"You must stop him before it's too late."_

Stop him…not kill him. There were many ways to stop someone from doing what they were doing. Diplomacy was just the first step. Neutralizing their power was another. Restraint and incarceration was a third. It seemed that Tamsyn was already working on the first part. Whether that involved diplomacy – convincing Miraak to turn to their side – or neutralization of his power remained to be seen. What was clear to him was that he needed to get to Tamsyn now. He stopped in his tracks.

"Something wrong?" Azura asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"Yeah," he said. "We need to head back to Tel Mithryn."

"Why?"

"I know now that Tamsyn is at the Summit of Apocrypha," he explained. "Relonikiv admitted as much. I have that Book. We don't need to explore any of the others."

"But what about Ralis?" Azura inquired.

"Pardon the language, Azura, but fuck Ralis. I'm done with him."

"But we're already so close to Kolbjorn," she insisted. "If you really want to go back to Tel Mithryn, we can. But since we're this close, you might as well have your conversation with Ralis as not."

Marcus blew out an exasperated breath.

"Alright, fine," he said. "Since we're that close."

Twenty minutes later they topped the last dune and saw Kolbjorn laid out below them.

"Something isn't right," Azura frowned, a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Those workers! They're dead!" She slid down the dune to the excavation site below, followed by a small avalanche of sand and ash. Marcus was close on her heels.

"They're all dead," Marcus confirmed grimly, feeling in vain for a pulse from the closest miner.

"What happened here?" Azura wondered bewildered.

"I don't know," Marcus replied with murder in his eyes, "but I intend to find out. Look around. See if you can find Ralis' body among the dead here."

Ten minutes of searching confirmed Marcus' worst fears. Ralis wasn't among the dead.

"Find him?" he asked Azura as she approached, books in her hand.

"No," she answered. Her face was a mask of confusion and concern. "But I found these. It appears Ralis kept a journal…several of them, in fact." She set them on a nearby table and picked one up. "Here, read the last entry of this one."

Marcus opened the volume and read it aloud.

" _Lord Ahzidal demands more blood, and I give it willingly. The hired men have somewhat pitiful souls, so it sometimes takes several of them to achieve the desired effects. I won't be writing any more. There is no need. The time has come to awaken the master, and bring him to the fate he deserves."_

"I'll kill that sonovabitch myself," Marcus muttered, snapping the book closed and tossing it onto the table with the others. "He's been sacrificing these poor people all along!"

"I think the draugr might have some responsibility there," Azura soothed. "But you're right. Ralis has a lot to answer for. We need to stop him before he can raise this Ahzidal from the dead!"

Grimly Marcus nodded and drew Dragonbane, leading the way down into the barrow.

Azura contemplated on the way in that she was actually quite superfluous when the Dragonborn's ire was up. Marcus was a one-man wrecking crew. He hacked, he Shouted, he blasted his way through the remaining draugr that had awakened in their absence until they got to the very bottom of the barrow. Marcus was barely even breathing hard.

At the final iron door that stood in their way, they heard chanting on the other side.

"Ahzidal, awaken! It is time! Master, arise!"

Marcus blew the doors open with his Unrelenting Shout just in time to hear Ralis cry out, "Ahzidal, arise!"

In the center of the circular room, lined with coffins of the dead and littered with the bodies of the missing miners and mercenaries, was a large sarcophagus that blew open with a resounding _boom_ that sounded like cannon fire. With a shriek akin to metal scraping on metal, a skeletal figure levitated out of the coffin and launched a beam of red energy straight at the unfortunate Ralis, sending him spinning across the room, to land in a heap against a far wall, unconscious.

His ire against Ralis temporarily suspended, Marcus concentrated on Ahzidal.

"Draugr alert!" Azura called, pulling Dukaan on as several rose out of their crypts at once. "I've got these," she assured the Dragonborn. "Take care of the big guy!" A wave of holy energy washed out from Azura in all directions, and several of the draugr panicked and ran. The handful that were left were the tougher Deathlords who didn't scare easily.

Knowing ice would be useless here, Azura called electricity into her hands and pulled herself away from Marcus, so as not to catch him in her blast, then sent forth her Chain Lightning. It was amusing, in a macabre sort of way, seeing the Deathlords stiffen and convulse as the arcane energy shot through them. Two scourges went to their knees, while the three Deathlords staggered but didn't back down. In the back of her mind, Azura kept the knowledge that a half dozen lesser draugr had run off, but would soon return.

While the spell was effective, Azura knew it wouldn't be enough. She blocked one Deathlord attack with a hastily raised Ward and retreated a few steps, thinking quickly. She had one spell in her arsenal she seldom used, because of the magicka cost. A master-level Destruction spell, like Blizzard, it channeled a stream of lightning wherever she directed it, for as long as she concentrated until she ran out of magicka. Now was the time, Azura felt, to unleash it.

Cupping her hands together, her brow furrowing, Azura allowed action to follow intent and sent a continuous Lightning Storm towards the approaching Draugr. The scourges went down, never to rise again, and Azura backed up to avoid the blows of the ebony axe and greatsword coming at her from the two closest Deathlords. She had almost given up hope that she could maintain the draw upon her reserves when the first Deathlord went down, followed swiftly by the second.

But there had been three. Where was the third?

Pain lanced through her leg as the ebony arrow struck bone. Azura staggered and followed the trajectory back to the third Deathlord raising his ebony bow for the second time, and taking aim at her. She threw herself to one side and tumbled painfully to the nearest stone bulwark set around the perimeter of the room. Yanking out the slender arrow was painful, but not as bad as the ballista bolt had been in Nchardak. She quickly threw off a healing spell and tumbled to the next bulwark, firing off a fireball in the direction of the Deathlord.

Immolated, the Draugr lost track of her for a moment. It was enough for her to take cover around the corner of the doorway through which she and Marcus had come. If the Deathlord came after her, she would lead him down the corridor. From behind her, she heard the shuffling and coughing of the approaching lesser draugr she had scared off earlier with her turning spell.

"Think, Azura, think!" she muttered. The Deathlord with the bow appeared more concerned with sniping at Marcus than coming after her, and she couldn't let that continue. She sent another fireball after him to get his attention, then conjured a flame Atronach down the corridor to help deal with the other draugr coming up from behind. It floated away from her, leaving a trail of fire behind it, and she heard explosions and grunts from around the corner, telling her the immediate problem was being handled.

The Deathlord, on the other hand, was still determined to take out the Dragonborn piece by piece. Azura launched another fireball at it before calling the Lightning Storm up once more and locked it onto the evil undead. She dodged one more arrow sent her way before the Deathlord collapsed completely and Azura was able to concentrate on helping Marcus. The silence behind her told her that her Atronach had dealt with the lesser draugr.

Marcus' tactic against liches was the tried and true method he had used since encountering his first one back in Labyrinthian with Tamsyn, all those years ago, when he helped her find and get the Staff of Magnus. He closed with the undead Dragon Priest and went into a flurry of strikes with Dragonbane in his right hand and the Nordic dagger he'd picked up in his left. The dagger didn't do a lot of damage, but it balanced out his fighting routine and made it easier to keep Ahzidal from targeting him with a deadly beam of energy that he seemed to be able to breathe out, much like Marcus' Flame Breath. It would have worked beautifully, except that Ahzidal made a gesture and suddenly became enveloped in a whirling maelstrom of flames.

 _Dammit!_ Marcus swore to himself as he pulled back. _He's got a fucking Flame Cloak!_

There weren't too many places to hide in the round chamber. Bulwarks of stone jutted out from the walls between sarcophagi that had once contained draugr, servants to the Dragon Priest Ahzidal had been. He knew Azura was dealing with those, and indeed, many fled from her first spell, escaping down the hallway they'd come in by. From the tail of his eye he saw the Bosmer mage casting her electricity spells and handling the other undead, leaving him free to take out Ahzidal.

 _But how?_ he wondered. Drawing his bow, he worked on plugging as many as he could into the lich while he tried to formulate a plan to neutralize him completely. It had been his experience that undead were seldom affected as much by his draining Shouts as living creatures were, and his Fire Breath would have little effect.

Something hit him from behind, and he felt a stab of pain as an arrow pierced his plate armor. He felt blood trickling down his back but had no time to think about that right now. Ahzidal was closing in, attempting to burn him with both the Flame Cloak and the energy beam he'd used before. He knew Azura had promised to take out the Deathlords, and hoped it hadn't been too much to ask of the Bosmer girl.

Heat washed over him once more as Ahzidal spewed out more of that energy beam in his direction.

" _FO KRAH DIIN!"_ Marcus bellowed, and smiled with grim satisfaction as Ahzidal recoiled from the blast of frost that slammed into him. The Flame Cloak winked out, and Marcus gave a feral grin as he leaped forward, under the stream of fire, and slashed upwards with Dragonbane, followed swiftly by a stab from the Nordic dagger. Ahzidal staggered, but lashed back with another heat beam. This one caught Marcus full in the face, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his eyebrows, moustache and beard singe.

 _I don't think a healing potion is going to bring those back,_ he thought obliquely. Grimacing in pain, he opened his eyes to see Ahzidal attempting to float away far enough to reestablish the Flame Cloak.

"You should have stayed dead," he growled. Sheathing his blades, he cupped his hands and dual-cast an Icy Spear that caught the lich right in the center of his chestplate. Staggering, the undead Priest sank slightly to the floor. Marcus attempted another Icy Spear, but nothing happened. He was out of magicka, and it was still too soon to Shout again.

"We'll do it the old-fashioned way then," he muttered, and drew his blades once more. It was a matter of heartbeats to finish the Dragon Priest off. Dimly, he was aware that the Deathlords were finished and that Ralis was waking up.

"Oh, gods—" the Dunmer adventurer began, staring around at the bodies of the miners and mercenaries scattered around the room. "What have I done?"

"I was hoping you'd tell us," Marcus scowled, his face like thunder.

"I…I don't remember," Ralis faltered. "Ever since I got here... to Kolbjorn... I've heard whispers. Voices. Thoughts. Imaginings. They've only gotten louder since I've stayed. Pounding, driving. A couple of times I blacked out. It was... It was just before the draugr woke up."

"Did you kill all the miners, Ralis?" Azura demanded, as angry as Marcus.

"I don't know," Ralis pleaded. "I... maybe? It's what... it's what he wanted. He just needed their energy. I don't know! I hope I didn't. But... maybe I... please, you have to believe me?"

The unhappy Dunmer looked almost ready to cry, and Azura relented just a little bit.

"I think I believe him, Marcus," she said. "He's got all the signs of someone who's been possessed: loss of memory, blacking out, hearing voices in his head."

Marcus stared at Ralis for a long moment. He knew from personal experience what it felt like to not be in control of his actions, but he had never gone on a killing spree while the Ancient Dragon souls – whom he had called Boney and Solly – had taken over his body.

"Get out of here, Ralis," he said with deadly calm. "I don't ever want to see your face again."

"I'm already gone, partner," the wiry adventurer promised. "I'm taking the first ship back to the mainland. I never want to see this place again!" He took off at a dead run for the door, disappearing down the corridor.

"So ends a partnership that should never have begun," Marcus muttered softly.

"Huh?" Azura queried, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's a quote from a…play…I once saw, called 'Captain Blood'," Marcus said. "Two pirates join forces for a while, but have a falling out over a girl. They fight on the beach and one of them kills the other, then delivers that line. It was actually a lot more involved than that, but it was a very good story."

"Are you now comparing yourself to pirates?" Azura chuckled, relieved to see that some of Marcus' dark mood had lifted.

"My wife would tell you I stole her heart," he grinned, glad himself that the whole ordeal was over. "Shall we see if there's anything else here before we leave?"

"We might as well," Azura nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd like Ahzidal's mask. And I can see an iron gate in that shadowy corner over there. I think there's something behind it."

That 'something' turned out to be a helmet that Azura was certain belonged to Ahzidal, along with the other artifacts they had found.

"Ralis has probably high-tailed it out of here with the rest of those," Marcus commented.

Azura shook her head. "No, I found them in a chest in his tent when we were looking for him earlier," she replied.

"What would keep him from taking them now, though?" Marcus queried. "He's got a head start on us, after all."

"I threw a Wizard Lock on the chest," Azura said smugly. "Only I can open it."

"I think I want you to teach me that spell, too," Marcus chuckled.

Getting the helm required figuring out the puzzle trap, in the form of the animal-icon turnstiles with which Marcus was, by now, very familiar. He was less than happy, however, when a gout of flames immolated him as he took the helm off the pedestal.

"Dammit!" he howled. "I disarmed that bastard! How could I have set it off anyway?"

"I'm guessing Ahzidal was taking no chances," Azura remarked, throwing a healing spell on the Dragonborn as he packed the helmet away. "Shall we head out?"

"Yeah, but I want to explore that tunnel over there first," Marcus said. "You never know where these things will lead. It might be a short cut out of here. I've been in too many barrows that had a fast way out at the end, after I went through flaming hoops to get through them."

Azura nodded and the two made their way through the twisting, turning tunnel that led up and up and up. It finally opened into a small, round chamber with a spiral ladder leading up. Lacework iron made up the floor, under which gurgled the dark green ichor of Apocrypha. It was by now a familiar sight to the two companions. Resting on a pedestal in the center of the room was a Black Book.

"I don't believe it!" Azura exclaimed, gloating. "We found one without Neloth's help!"

"This is the last one, then," Marcus murmured, breathing a sigh of relief. "Let's pack it up and get out of here!"

"Back to Tel Mithryn, then?" Azura asked.

"Absolutely," Marcus nodded. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get through these things and find my wife."

He was still concerned over Tamsyn's interactions with Miraak. Why was she helping him to return? He had to admit, he was grateful the bastard had stopped stealing his dragon souls from him, and he wondered briefly how much of that decision had been Tamsyn's. But if Miraak was as evil as the Skaal had made him out to be – and the evidence of his Temple did not dispute that – then why help him return to Nirn?

For that, Marcus knew he would have to consult with Tamsyn, just as soon as he could get to her. Hopefully he could avoid going through the other Black Books. Accepting the 'gifts' of Hermaeus Mora, he felt, only bound him closer to the Daedric Prince – a position he _definitely_ wanted to avoid. But he would go through whatever hells the amorphous blob of eyes and limbs put him through if it meant he could save his wife. He just hoped he would be in time.

* * *

They had barely left Kolbjorn when a roar echoed overhead and a shadow crossed over them. A dragon landed heavily on the sands not ten feet away, breathing hard.

" _Raal hond hein zahkrii, Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon gasped. _Put away your sword._

"I'm going to guess you're Kruzikrel," Marcus surmised, hiding a smile. World got around fast, it seemed.

"If you know who I am, then you must know why I am here," the dragon replied laconically, ducking its horned head in agreement.

Marcus nodded. "I'd say you're looking for the same deal I offered Relonikiv," he replied.

The great green dragon rumbled his affirmation. "My _zeymah_ told me you spared him in return for knowledge of a _thu'um,"_ Kruzikrel stated.

"And that he is not to hunt the _joore,"_ Marcus added. He wanted to make sure the dragons understood that.

Kruzikrel rumbled his agreement. "I will make the same promise to you, Dovahkiin. I do not wish to die, and I am too weak to fight you at this time."

Marcus knew how hard it had to have been for both Kruzikrel and Relonikiv to admit they could not fight.

"I accept your offer, Kruzikrel," Marcus said now. "And I would have you teach me _ven."_

Kruzikrel ducked his head and the energy flowed from him into the Dragonborn.

"One more thing before you go, Kruzikrel," he began, after the knowledge settled into a corner of his mind, unlocking the first word of the Cyclone Shout. "What can you tell me about what has happened in Apocrypha? I know Miraak wants to return to Nirn, but from what I know about him it seems out of character for him to care about what might happen to the two of you."

"There are three of us, Dovahkiin," Kruzikrel replied. "Sahrotaar is the third, and has not been with us as long. My Lord Miraak has had… _an volbur do zahreik…_ a change of heart, as you might say. The _Prok-Lahzey_ has told him things which have…troubled him. She has made him… _dahmaan_ …remember…who he was before the Dragon Cult became his _lein,_ his world."

 _That's my Tamsyn,_ Marcus thought fondly. "And Miraak no longer follows Hermaeus Mora?" he demanded.

"My Lord has not had dealing with the Demon Prince in many centuries," Kruzikrel said firmly. "But he was desperate to return to Nirn. He needed the energy of the All-Maker Stones to accomplish this. When you cleansed the Stones, you prevented this. My Lord was angry, but soon realized the _Prok-Lahzey_ had more than enough energy to accomplish his task. She would not help him, though, until he agreed not to enslave all of Solstheim again."

"How could one person have that much power?" Azura asked.

"It is because of who she is," the dragon replied simply, but Marcus cut across the conversation.

"I think that's all for now, Kruzikrel," he said. "We'll be on our way. Come on, Azura. It's still a long way to Tel Mithryn."

"I don't understand, Marcus," Azura protested as he pulled her away and headed off across the dunes. "What is so special about Tamsyn? How could she be so powerful that she replaced all of the All-Maker Stones in Miraak's plan?"

"I can't tell you, Azura," Marcus said firmly. "Believe me, I want to, but I can't."

"I see," the Bosmer girl said stiffly, stopping dead in her tracks. "I guess this is where we part paths, then."

"Wait, what?" Marcus spluttered, bewildered.

"I've helped you for the better part of two weeks now, Marcus Dragonborn," Azura stormed. "I've gone through some really dangerous stuff with you. I've taught you spells you didn't know before. I've had your back in some really tight places. And you _still_ don't trust me enough to let me in on whatever this big secret is of yours and your wife's!"

"It's not a matter of trust, Azura," Marcus protested. "I'm trying to protect you. You said yourself this is a Daedric Prince we're dealing with. You saw what he did to Storn! I don't want that happening to you, if Mora finds out you know!"

Azura opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. After fuming for several minutes, she spoke quietly. "Alright. I understand. I don't like it, but I understand. I can't deny you're right to be cautious when dealing with Hermaeus Mora. All I ask is when this is all over, that you please tell me what you can't tell me now."

Marcus nodded. "I promise, Azura," he smiled. "As soon as it's safe, I promise I'll tell you."

Only slightly mollified, Azura nodded and the two trudged on through the dunes back to Tel Mithryn.

It was dark when they arrived, and Varona greeted them warmly.

"I'll make up a bed for you, Dragonborn," she offered, and Marcus accepted gratefully. Neloth emerged from his reading room not long after and crowed triumphantly.

"There you two are! I believe I've found the resting place of the last Black Book you're looking for!" he smiled in delight. "It would seem that it was taken to a place known as Kolbjorn Barrow. The only drawback is that the location of Kolbjorn is lost to time. It was believed to have been buried in sand and ash shortly after the explosion of Red Mountain, however I may be able to pinpoint its location on your map." He beamed proudly.

"Um…actually, Neloth," Azura grinned smugly. "We found Kolbjorn. Marcus had a team of excavators dig it out. We found the Black Book." She held it up for him to see.

Neloth stared at the two of them for a long moment, then sniffed. "Hmph! I don't know why I even bother, sometimes!"

"I appreciate the research you did," Marcus said. "But I might not even need it now." He explained how the two dragons, Relonikiv and Kruzikrel, had confirmed for him Tamsyn's location in the Black Book known as _Waking Dreams._

"It's the one Miraak kicked me out of in the beginning," Marcus explained. "Somehow Tamsyn has found her way there. The dragons saw her. So I really don't even need to go through these other Books."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Neloth cautioned. "You've already gained certain powers and abilities from the Books you've been through. Only a fool would discard the opportunity to obtain additional powers which might help you in the final conflict."

"I'm not too sure I want to do that," Marcus frowned. "Don't I become more closely bound to Hermaeus Mora by accepting these 'gifts' from him? I don't want to be his 'Champion'."

"A lesser man might become beguiled into thinking he has escaped Mora's snare," Neloth shrugged. "You, at least, seem to realize what is at stake here. Yes, you might become more tightly entwined in old Herma-Mora's machinations by accepting each of his gifts, but you, Dragonborn, seem to have a strong enough will to defy him."

"You've defied other Daedric Princes before," Azura reminded him. "And you've told me yourself that you follow Akatosh. As long as you remain firm in your loyalty to the Chief of the Aedra, the Daedra shouldn't be able to touch you."

"Is this true?" Neloth demanded. "Have you dealt with the Daedra before?"

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, but not because I wanted to."

"Nevertheless," Neloth said, "just the fact that you have negotiated around them successfully indicates that you might have better success here. I would still explore the other Books, if I were you. You might find something in them that will make the effort worthwhile."

Marcus digested this, turning it over in his mind. There was quite a lot of logic in what Neloth said. Even Azura seemed to think he could resist Mora's maneuverings.

"Alright," he said finally, blowing out a breath. "We'll start in the morning. It's late, and I need a clear head."

"I agree," Azura said. "We both could use some rest."

"One more thing, Dragonborn," Neloth said. "Be sure to take that ebony mace with you. I'm not one hundred percent certain yet what it is, but the fact that it was so effective against Mora's minions tells me you'd be better off having it with you than not."

"I can pack some extra soul gems if you like," Azura offered. "We can keep it charged."

Marcus nodded. Time was running out, and he chafed at the delay of plowing through several Black Books knowing Tamsyn wouldn't be there. But if Miraak was not the enemy he had been made out to be, if the First Dragonborn had had a change of heart, as Kruzikrel seemed to think he had, then it meant he and Azura would be going up against the Daedric Prince of Hidden Knowledge himself, and for that, he needed every advantage he could get.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Next up, Marcus and Azura begin to explore the remaining Black Books, getting closer and closer to the Summit of Apocrypha. If you like what you've read so far, please comment and let me know. Thank you!]_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 _Julianos was waiting for him again._

" _You're doing well," his father-in-law praised. "Getting the Books was half the battle. Now you need to go through them."_

" _I don't have to go through all of them," Marcus pointed out. "I know where Tamsyn is now. I can just head there right away."_

 _Julianos shook his head. He sat down on a bench that hadn't been there before and patted the seat next to him. Marcus sat down._

" _You could do that," the God of Wisdom shrugged, "but the fastest way isn't always the best way."_

 _Marcus gave a rueful chuckle. "Weren't you the one urging me to hurry?"_

 _Julianos echoed that self-effacing laugh. "I was," he agreed. "But as annoying as Neloth can be, he's right about one thing: the Books hold power it would be wise for you to acquire."_

 _The smile ran away from Marcus' face. "Wouldn't that bind me more closely to Hermaeus Mora?"_

" _No," Julianos dismissed. "You've already stated that your heart and soul belong to Akatosh. Your friend Azura is correct: as long as you continue to keep faith with the Aedra, the Daedra can't touch you. And while Tamsyn may not have a lot of time left, there is enough time for you to do this, if you don't take too long about it. Time moves more slowly in Apocrypha than it does in Nirn, but it still moves forward."_

" _What will happen to Tamsyn if I can't get to her in time?" Marcus hated to ask the question, but he needed to know._

 _Julianos blew out a sigh. "Her physical body would die, of course, in spite of the efforts of the mages at her college keeping her alive. Apocrypha is a terrible place to be trapped in, if one has no way out. It drains the body and weakens the will. Miraak himself succumbed for a time before finding a way to build his own enclave at the Summit. It's why he rarely, if ever, leaves it. Apocrypha affects Tamsyn more deeply because she's part Aedra. Eventually, she will lose her mortality and become completely immortal, if she does not leave soon. If that happens, she can never return to Nirn, and you will lose her until your own life ends, and you are rejoined in Aetherius."_

" _If I lose Tamsyn, I'll have no reason to live," Marcus frowned morosely._

" _Rubbish!" Julianos snapped impatiently. "You'll have Julia, and all the plans you've put into action to defeat the Aldmeri Dominion once and for all. You know you can't abandon that, especially Julia. I would think much less of you if you ended your own life, no matter how much you love my daughter."_

 _He smiled again and patted Marcus' shoulder._

" _You're stronger than you believe, Marcus. You know you've come through worse places than this before. Be confident in yourself. Be the Dragonborn. You can do this. We're all counting on you."_

 _Marcus opened his eyes._

* * *

As he lay there in the dimness of the early morning, Marcus reflected on Julianos' words and realized his father-in-law was right. He _had_ been in worse places, and had somehow always managed to find the path that led to victory. The end result here, of course, was to rescue his wife before time ran out. He had come so far already, and though there had been some twists and bumps in the road, he felt that he and Azura had done fairly well acquiring all seven of the Black Books in just under two weeks.

He had learned the Bend Will Shout, and had freed the All-Maker Stones for the Skaal. He knew only two parts of the Dragon Aspect Shout, but hoped to find the third within one of the Books before he had to confront Miraak.

 _I don't think Miraak is the real 'bad guy' here, though,_ Marcus thought to himself. _Maybe he once was, but dragons don't lie. They might prevaricate or mislead, but they don't lie. If what Kruzikrel and Relonikiv said is true, Miraak might not be the villain he used to be._

That made his objective much easier. He might not have to kill Miraak. Akatosh had only said to stop the First Dragonborn in his bid to return to power. If Tamsyn had already been working on Miraak, as the two dragons had indicated, perhaps he could be persuaded to help fight against his former Master. It was Hermaeus Mora who was the true source of the evil plaguing the Skaal, Marcus felt, and the rest of Solstheim for that matter. He was just another in a lengthening line of Daedra who had decided to test themselves against the Dragonborn.

 _Maybe that's why each of them thinks they can succeed in getting me as their Champion where the others failed,_ he thought now. He sighed as he rose from his bed and prepared himself for the day ahead. "Everybody wants a piece of the Dragonborn," he muttered. He splashed some water from the pitcher and bowl on the nightstand over his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror suspended above it from a tendril of vine.

Without his helmet, his dark brown hair was swept back from his forehead, hanging down almost to his shoulders. Deep set steel gray eyes gazed into his from the glass as he pulled his hair back and secured it with a leather strip. His beard was starting to look scraggly again, coming back in on his cheeks, which he usually kept clean. He hadn't shaved since Elisif and Ulfric's wedding, and it was showing, but he hadn't had time to clean up.

 _When this is over,_ he thought, _I'm going to take a trip to Markarth and soak for a week in Vlindrel Hall's spa!_

Marcus' brow furrowed in concentration. How could one neutralize a Daedra? Azura had told him they couldn't be killed. Julianos had confirmed this. So, how did one go about rendering an all-powerful being impotent? He had done it with Clavicus Vile, but only because Barbas had had enough of the Prince's cavalier attitude and had decided to take a century-long vacation while the Prince languished in his half-forgotten shrine.

How had he managed to rein in the others? To be fair, with respect to Meridia and Azura, he hadn't. He had done what they asked him to do, but had rejected becoming their Champion, even though they had gifted him with their artifacts. Azura's Star was now in the possession of her namesake. Tamsyn had latched onto Dawnbreaker and sometimes wore it on ceremonial occasions. He didn't mind. It was really too short a sword for his tastes, though he couldn't deny its affect against undead was deeply satisfying.

He had, with the help of the Companions and Serana Volkihar, beaten the crap out of Hircine, forcing the Daedric Prince to release his hold on the Dragonborn. And while he had taken Mephala's Blade, she had managed to let it slip away from him. It was now somewhere in the Summerset Isles, wreaking havoc among the Aldmeri Dominion. Not the best way to have handled that one, he admitted to himself, but he'd take that trade-off.

He had destroyed the Coven of Namira, the clan of cannibals sworn to the Prince of Decay, when he had killed the leader, Eola, in the tombs under the Mournful Palace in Markarth. And he had helped Dante Greyshadow steal the dagger known as Mehrunes' Razor from Silas Vesuius in Dawnstar, but not before running all over "Akatosh's Little Green Acre" to find the pieces for the curator. He hadn't wanted to be party to such larceny, but the alternative had been unthinkable. Dagon, he remembered, hadn't been pleased at all, so there was that.

As for the other Daedric Princes, he really couldn't claim to have thwarted them, because he hadn't had to deal with them. He hoped he never would.

 _I guess the best way to handle this is a step at a time,_ he told himself. Something was bound to happen that would make the path clear to him. He'd just have to wait and see what happened.

He settled his helmet in place with a sigh and headed out to the main chamber of Tel Mithryn to rejoin the others.

"So, which Book of Mora's are you planning to explore today?" Neloth inquired over his canis root tea an hour later. Azura and Marcus had just finished breaking their fast, and Azura had brought the satchel from her trunk that contained all the Books. It was open, and all the Books were stacked neatly at one end of the table. Neloth had already made his copies of the most recently discovered Books.

"We haven't really decided yet," Azura said. "We've been through _Epistolary Acumen,_ which was the one we found in Nchardak. We can't go through _Waking Dreams_ yet." She pointed to each in turn. "That leaves _The Sallow Regent,_ which we found in White Ridge Barrow, _Untold Legends,_ which was in Benkongerike, _The Winds of Change_ which came from Raven Rock Mine – or was that the Bloodskal Barrow at that point?" She lifted an eyebrow in Marcus' direction.

"I think it was the Barrow by that time," he nodded.

"Then there's _Filament and Filigree,"_ the Bosmer mage continued, _"_ which we just unearthed from Kolbjorn Barrow, and your Book, Neloth, _The Hidden Twilight."_

"I must admit," Neloth announced, "I'm quite impressed at seeing all seven of these together. I would never have dreamed it to be possible." He frowned. "They all look alike, though. Which one is mine?"

"This one here," Azura gestured. Since Neloth had just given it to her that morning, it rested on top of the pile.

"I suppose we could start with that one," Marcus said. "I don't think it matters which order we read them in."

"I'm ready when you are," Azura nodded. "On three…"

Together they grabbed the Book by both covers, and on the count of three, opened it. The slimy ephemeral tentacles reached out to pull them in, and as the world around them faded, Marcus heard Neloth drawl, "If I didn't know better, I would assume that to be excruciatingly painful…"

* * *

The bleak world of Apocrypha materialized around them, and Marcus looked around. Stacks of books formed part of the walls around them. Stone and filigreed iron filled in the rest. Behind them there was nothing: no book or pedestal or portal of any kind to take them back the way they had come. But he and Azura still clutched _The Hidden Twilight._ Marcus remembered Hermaeus Mora telling them when they first arrived in his realm that reading the Book again would take them back to Nirn.

 _But that won't help me find Tamsyn,_ he thought.

"Well," he said aloud. "We're here. Want to have a look around?"

"We might as well," Azura nodded.

On either side of the small chamber were sculptures of the serpentine-like dragon heads they had seen in Miraak's temple. The two here were pointed upwards, with gaping maws in which glowing blue spheres pulsed and ebbed.

"What are those things?" Marcus asked. "I saw a few in the other Book, but we never really looked at them."

"Neloth told me about these," Azura said. "They're fonts, like a fountain. The blue ones are for magicka, and the green ones restore your energy. It's rather nice of Hermaeus Mora to supply them." Her last comment was laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, I didn't expect such largess from a Daedric Prince," Marcus concurred. "It's more likely he just wants to prolong the game. Are there any fonts for health?" he continued.

Azura pulled a wry face. "Hermaeus Mora isn't _that_ generous," she snorted.

There was only one way out of the chamber, straight ahead, but it was blocked by a filigree wall. A scrye, like a delicate, otherworldly flower, swayed gracefully on the left side of the corridor. Beyond that, next to the dead-end wall, was another magicka font. Through the filigree, they could see another Chapter, resting on a pedestal.

"Chapter Two already?" Azura quipped. "That was quick!" She brushed the scrye and the wall opened up to the Book.

"I've got a feeling it's not all going to be this easy," Marcus drawled. Wordlessly, they approached the pedestal, which was flanked by a pair of stamina fonts.

"Is that supposed to be there?" Azura asked, pointing to a large pod behind the pedestal.

"The last one I checked had some good stuff in it," Marcus shrugged. "What can it hurt to look now?"

This pod contained some "good stuff" as well, as the two divided up the gems and coins. Azura kept the book they found inside, _Hallgerd's Tale,_ since Marcus already owned a copy of it. The two healing potions were shared between them. Neither had any use for the iron dagger, so they left it.

By mutual consent, they grasped the next Chapter at the same time and leaned in, as Chapter One dissolved around them.

* * *

A long corridor stretched ahead with a magicka font glowing at the end of it. Stone arches formed the backbone of this area, with stacks and stacks of books jammed in between them to form walls. The floor beneath their feet seemed comprised of layers upon layers of compacted pages, torn from numerous unknown books. The writings on them were illegible, and the breeze that wafted through the tunnels lifted the edges of some of the pages, making them snap and flap. Chapter One rested on a pedestal behind them, but it was forward they needed to go. The corridor twisted and turned, first left, then right, then left again, past magicka fonts, and beneath torn, shredded banners that glowed with the sigil of Hermaeus Mora.

A lattice-worked wall blocked their progress forward, and forced them to go around, past more magicka fonts, before the area opened up into a large courtyard space open to the skies above. Eddies and gusts of wind here blew loose papers into dust-devil-like spirals that lifted up to the sky before settling down, only to be blown around again with the next breeze. The floor changed from compacted parchment to iron filigree here, and beneath it all, the waters of Oblivion gurgled and swirled.

Twisted stacks of books reached up to what was left of the roof, though most of that had fallen in ages ago. A corridor to their left ended with an impassable gate of iron lattice. A scrye swayed on the other side, but there was no way to reach it from here.

As Marcus and Azura turned back to explore the larger, open area, a slight shifting of shadow caught the Dragonborn's eye. Immediately dropping to a crouch, he fired off his Aura Whisper, lighting up two shambling figures.

"Seekers! Two of them!" he hissed to Azura, who had instinctively hunkered down when he had.

"Where?" she whispered. "I can't see them!"

"One is by the altar table across the room," he said. "The other—"

A reverberating croak vibrated through the air as a Seeker materialized directly in front of them, waving all four arms and thundering out its percussive attack. Marcus felt the drain on his magicka and stamina immediately. The Seeker suddenly split into two, and one moved off, to continue bombarding them with the psychic attacks. The noise alerted the second Seeker, who immediately teleported itself across the room to confront them. It, too, cloned itself, and there were suddenly _four_ where there had only been two moments before.

"Fire or frost, Marcus!" Azura cried, moving away to the left, towards the short flight of stairs on the left side of the room. "Shock doesn't work on them!"

"How about steel?" he asked. But he drew on his depleting magicka reserves anyway. At least he would get one good hit off first, he thought, before resorting to his blades. Targeting the Seeker closest to him, he sent a wave of Ice Storm towards it, grinning maliciously as it shuddered, its tentacles writhing in agony.

A tingling from overhead distracted him momentarily. A blue glow suffused him from the magicka font above him, and he felt his reserves refill.

 _Heh heh heh,_ he chuckled to himself. _I could get used to this!_

He sent another wave of frost towards the Seeker, which winked out. That still left the other one, the original, pitching fast balls of energy drain at him from half a room away. With one hand Marcus fired off a healing spell to help with the pain; with the other he sent an Icy Spear and watched with satisfaction as it impaled the Seeker, who staggered.

"Alright, play time's over," he growled, drawing Dragonbane and the ebony mace. The mace was heavier than the Akaviri blade, and as such, he felt a little imbalanced, but training with the Companions had helped him turn any disadvantage into an advantage. He shifted the lighter steel blade to his off hand and led with the heavier mace. He'd already seen what it could do…probably.

Closing with the Seeker, who was once more sending those draining pulses his way, Marcus swung the mace with everything in him, enjoying the squelch it made as it connected with the shambling horror. The shriek it emitted as it died was very gratifying. Marcus turned to see how Azura was faring, just in time to see the only Seeker remaining collapse, reduced to nothing but its robes. Looking around, he noticed only two sets of robes for the four Seekers they'd fought.

"So, they clone themselves?" he guessed.

"If you mean, they duplicate an exact image of themselves, with all the power the original possesses, then yes, that's what they do," Azura nodded, breathing hard. She stood under the magicka font, letting the energy flow into her. "Neloth mentioned it, but when we were in Apocrypha before, you always took on the Lurkers, so there wasn't an opportunity to let you know."

"We'll have to see if we can hit them hard and fast, then, next time," Marcus mused, sifting through the tattered garb to see if there was anything useful there. He had quickly learned that all Seekers carried books with them that didn't disappear when they died. Some of the books were even rare. This one had nothing on it he didn't already have at home. "They got the jump on us this time. I didn't know they could teleport, though. That's disturbing."

"I didn't know they could do that, either," Azura admitted. "I don't think Neloth knew, or he would have said something." She glanced around. "Which way now?"

"Well, we can't get the gate open from this side," Marcus reasoned. "We'll have to try up the stairs, I guess, and see where that takes us."

Azura swooped up the filled grand soul gem sitting on the altar table and the two headed up a ramp that led to an upper level, overlooking the waters of Apocrypha. Some distance away was another kind of building, with a lattice-work walkway just above the water. There was, however, no door at that level. The only way through seemed to be a doorway on a balcony at the same level as they were now. Getting there would be challenging. The two intervening bridges suddenly decided to curl and uncurl on their own. To get to the middle pillars, they would have to time their jumps. At least they wouldn't fall into the Apocryphal Ocean. That didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

"Think you can make it?" Marcus asked, concerned.

"Ha!" Azura crowed. "This is a runaway!"

"A 'runaway'?" Marcus queried.

"It's something we used to say in Valenwood," Azura explained. "It means this is too easy. Try going from one moving tree to another! _That's_ a challenge!"

To prove her point, the Bosmer girl turned, and – timing her jump perfectly – gracefully leaped onto the bridge on their side as it was uncurling upward. At the tip-top of the bridge, at the apex of its rise, she bounded lightly down to the central pillar.

"Come on, Marcus!" she called. "It's easy! You've got this!"

Marcus wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to disappoint his companion. By now the bridge was curling downward, so he waited for it to come back up. When it did, he raced up the ramp, intending to leap off to the center pillar, as Azura had done, but it shuddered to a brief stop, and Marcus made the mistake of looking down.

"Ohhhh nooo…" he moaned, as the distance and the foreground telescoped in his vision. Wavering at the edge, the bridge started downward again and Marcus lost his balance, falling to the lattice-work platform below. He lay there, stunned, the breath knocked out of him.

" _MARCUS!"_

Instantly Azura leaped to the downward-swinging bridge and rode it to the lower level, clinging like a burr on a dog before jumping lightly to the floor, just as the bridge stopped. It stayed there and did not rise up again. Neither did Marcus, and Azura rushed over, healing energy already pouring from her hands.

"Marcus, say something!" Azura begged, scanning him to see if anything was broken.

There was a long pause as Marcus blinked up at the green sky above them. "I hate…heights?" he gasped.

Relief flooded the Bosmer girl's face. "I thought you were killed!"

"No," Marcus groaned, struggling to sit up. Every part of his body ached, but the healing spell Azura was pouring into him helped. "It just feels that way."

"What happened?" she asked kindly.

"I told you," he shrugged, wincing as he did so. "I hate heights. I always have."

"But you ride dragons!" Azura protested.

"I know," Marcus nodded. "But that's the key: I _ride_ them. I've got something under me, between me and that long drop to the ground. When we were in Sovngarde, preparing to fight Alduin, I had to cross the Whalebone Bridge, and I froze. I literally couldn't make myself move a muscle. All I could think of was that long fall, and how Alduin was going to win by default because I'm the clumsiest man alive. I can't even dance with my wife, though she loves to dance."

"You're not clumsy," Azura scoffed. "I've seen you fight. There's a graceful artistry in the way you swing your blades."

"Combat fighting is different from dancing, or using a skill like acrobatics," Marcus dismissed. "I'm a big guy. My center of gravity is different from yours, or a smaller man like my son Alesan. He can walk a narrow stone wall like it's a four-lane highway. I can't stop thinking about that long fall, and how much it will hurt, or that I might get killed."

Azura gave a shrug. "Well, clearly you made it over the…what did you call it? Whalebone Bridge? Was it really made of whale bone?"

"Yeah," Marcus sighed. "The entire skeleton from head to tail. It was an architectural nightmare, and I had to cross it a several times."

"So how did you manage to get over your fear?"

"I didn't," he admitted. "Not really. Tamsyn cast some kind of spell on me that eliminated my fear, to get me over the first time. When I came back, I saw Hakon, Felldir and Gormlaith cross over it ahead of me, like it was nothing, and I couldn't let them see how scared I was, so I just sucked it up and did it. It wasn't so bad the last two times, because I knew I'd already done it."

"Would a Courage spell help now?" Azura asked.

"Please and thank you," Marcus smiled meekly. "I'm sure I'll be fine if we have to do this again, but I wouldn't say no to a boost of confidence now."

"Come on, then, you milk-drinker," Azura teased, pulling him up with her. "Let's head back up there and get through this."

"I like milk," the Dragonborn protested.

As Azura had hoped, the Courage spell was all Marcus needed to make the leap of faith not only from the first bridge, but the second as well. There was a bit of difficulty with the second bridge, however, when the heel of Marcus' dragonplate boot got caught in the filigree-work, and he was left dangling upside down as the bridge curled back down. He was laughing, however, as he managed to swing his body up, grab the ironwork and free his heel before the bridge curled back up, allowing him to rejoin Azura on the other side.

"Well, that was fun," he grinned. "I used to hang off the monkey bars at the playground like that."

Azura made no comment. She didn't know what "monkey bars" were, but by now she was used to Marcus' quirky nature. It was enough to know her spell had had the desired effect, and Marcus' confidence in himself had had a boost.

The corridor just inside this structure was once more lined in stacks of ruined, rotted books, and both Marcus and Azura pondered soberly the amount of lost knowledge they might once have contained.

"Back where I came from," Marcus mused, choosing his words carefully, "there was an ancient city called Alexandria, in a country far from my home. Thousands of years ago, it was said to have contained a great library, filled with all the knowledge ever learned. It was known as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World."

"What happened to it?" Azura asked.

"It was destroyed by fire, an age ago," Marcus said sadly. "No one knows exactly how many scrolls were lost – all books back then were recorded on parchment and papyrus scrolls – but it was estimated to number in the tens of thousands."

"I think I feel sick," Azura moaned.

"Yeah, me too," Marcus nodded. "I love to read. It's how I've learned so much about Skyrim in the short time I've lived there. I thought I had a pretty impressive library at home, until I saw the one at Winterhold."

Azura chuckled. "It's probably the largest library in Tamriel," Azura concurred. "The Librarian, Urag-gro-Shub, makes sure it stays that way."

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, I've volunteered to find a few rare books for him, and in return, he's allowed me to buy some volumes I didn't already have."

"I used to do that too, back when I studied there," Azura nodded sadly. "I miss those days."

Marcus gave her a brotherly hug. "We'll get you back there, Azura," he promised. "I think we need you more than Neloth ever did."

The Bosmer girl brightened. "I hope so! Which way do you want to go now? Left or right?"

The corridor had ended in a T-intersection, with a magicka font in front of them.

Marcus pulled a septim from the pouch at his belt. "Heads we go left, tails we go right," he said, flipping it in the air. Azura caught it and slapped it down on the back of her hand. "Heads," she announced.

The way left took them only to a small alcove with an altar table and a pod chest with more treasure. Part of the wall was more filigree, and they could see the area beyond, but there appeared to be no way to get there from here. On the altar table was a copy of _Purloined Shadows._

"I don't think I've seen this book before," Azura remarked.

"I have," Marcus replied. "At least, I've heard the story. You might enjoy it. A thief tries to steal Nocturnal's cloak."

"I thought it was her cowl that was stolen?" Azura frowned, trying to remember if she had read the book so long ago she had forgotten. That was part of the blessing and the curse of being mer. Live long enough, and everything old became new again.

"I think it's a variation on the tale," Marcus replied, nodding. "Shall we see where the other direction takes us? Maybe there's a way into that other area."

Azura slipped the book into her backpack and shrugged it back onto her shoulders before following the Dragonborn down the other corridor.

"Now _this_ is more like it!" Marcus grinned as they rounded the corner and saw Chapter Three resting on a pedestal.

* * *

When they could see again a large stack of twisted books obstructed their way. A path led to either side around it, and Azura found another pod chest to the left near a stamina font. The doorway beyond led out into the open again, revealing the waters of Apocrypha surrounding a small platform island between their position and another structure opposite them. Ramps curved back and up to either side of them. There was no way to cross.

"I don't suppose we could swim across?" Marcus mused out loud.

"Definitely not," Azura told him. "The water here is actually some kind of acid poison. Neloth fell in once on his trip through here. He said it was…painful…just before he woke up back in Tel Mithryn."

"Okay," Marcus nodded. "Note to self: _don't_ fall in. So, we need to get across somehow, and I don't see a bridge this time."

"There has to be a way," Azura reasoned. "Hermaeus Mora _wants_ the visitors to his realm to stay and explore. The longer they stay, the more likely they are to become trapped here."

"We aren't going to stay that long," Marcus said firmly. "Let's look around. There might be one of those scrye things hidden somewhere that will extend a bridge or something."

They found the scrye at the top of the ramps, which joined overhead in more of the iconic filigree-work. From here, they had a broader view of the enormity of Apocrypha – at least, in this Book.

"This place just goes on forever," Azura sighed in dismay, scanning the murky horizon. "How could anyone find anything here?"

"I don't think that's the point of all this," Marcus said thoughtfully. "Think of all the loot we've found so far. We've been fairly selective, but someone who came here just to rob the place would get bogged down pretty quickly. And there's always more, right around the next corner. This place is a maze, and it would be very easy to get confused and lost in here. That's most likely by design. Like you said, Mora _wants_ people to stay and explore, so they'll be trapped here forever."

A rippling distortion on the island caught Marcus' eye just before Azura touched the scrye.

"Hold up a minute, Azura!" he exclaimed, dropping to a crouch. "What's that out there?" He pointed.

"A Seeker!" she hissed. "Did you want to take it out before we get there?"

"That's what I'm hoping," he smirked, drawing his bow and taking aim.

It only took two arrows, and after the first one, the Seeker rushed to the edge of the platform, but halted, tentacles waving in frustration. It could go no further.

"They can't teleport across the water!" Azura realized out loud as Marcus' second arrow brought the Seeker down.

"That's _very_ good to know!" the Dragonborn grinned, brushing the scrye.

Stone grated and rumbled against itself as stairs extended from the platform back towards them, connecting them to the island. They hurried down to water level and crossed to the island. From here they could see it was not really an island at all. A filigree catwalk and more stone steps connected it to the structure on the other side. Azura scooped up the soul gems lying on the platform as they passed. The remains of the Seeker had nothing useful it.

This area had another raised platform, but their progress was halted by another iron gate.

A roar followed by measured, squelching impact tremors told them they had company. The Lurker rounded the corner from the right and spewed out its toxic vomit. Azura leaped nimbly to one side. Marcus tumbled to the other, avoiding the attack.

"I know how to stop you!" Azura declared, throwing off a paralysis spell. The creature stiffened and toppled over, allowing Marcus to close with it and dispatch it with relative ease. One thing he had noticed about the denizens of Apocrypha: they usually carried valuable gems, jewelry or books on them. The two companions split the treasure and looked around. The ramp the Lurker had been guarding led to the scrye that opened the gate. As they descended the ramp, Azura noticed the gap in the stacked-book wall, tucked away behind the stairs.

"Want to follow it?" she asked.

"We'd be fools not to," Marcus shrugged.

The tunnel of stacked books twisted this way and that, ending in a small alcove where Chapter Four rested on a pedestal.

* * *

The only thing they found in the next Chapter was a small chamber with a scrye at one end. Azura brushed it, and it closed, but otherwise nothing happened.

"I guess that's it," Marcus said. "A red herring."

"What's a 'red herring,'?" his companion asked.

"It's just a saying that means we've been following a false trail," Marcus explained. "Whatever this scrye opens isn't here. We'll have to go back and try to pick up the trail again."

Azura sighed as they grasped Chapter Three once more.

"And here I thought we were making progress," she moaned.

* * *

There had been only two other aborted attacks by Hermaeus Mora since the last time Miraak attempted to call Sahrotaar. The dragon had still not returned, and Miraak was past the point of being piqued and had moved on to being partly angry and partly worried. Worry was winning.

"It's not unlike waiting up for a child to return home after they've been out all night, isn't it?" Tamsyn mused.

"I would not know of such things," Miraak frowned. "I never took a wife, nor—" he broke off. He had been about to say he had never fathered children, but he remember the tryst he had had with Tarike, the Village Chief's daughter, and closed his mouth. He had no idea if their time together had resulted in a child or not. He had never seen her again, nor had he heard anything about her.

"Miraak, you sly dog, you," Tamsyn smirked.

"I said nothing," the First Dragonborn protested.

"You didn't have to," Tamsyn winked.

"We are not having this conversation," Miraak said shortly, indicating with absolute clarity that he would speak of it no further. He didn't like being the butt of a joke, and the Arch-Mage certainly seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

"You were human once, Miraak," Tamsyn soothed. "Don't ever forget that. I spent my entire first lifetime not knowing my origins. I believed myself to be nothing more than human. And I made a _lot_ of mistakes."

"Mistakes are an indication of failure," Miraak insisted.

"No," Tamsyn countered. "Mistakes are lessons to be learned from, so you don't make them again. If I had never had the wild life I lived then, I wouldn't appreciate the stable life I have now. If I hadn't made the mistakes I made then, I wouldn't have the foresight I have now to see them coming and head them off."

Miraak hesitated. "That is…a perspective I never considered," he admitted.

"No," Tamsyn agreed. "I don't imagine you have. Your life as a Dragon Priest never permitted the luxury of failure. You were required to adhere to a strict code of conduct, a prescribed ritual of behavior. Stepping outside those rules guaranteed punishment. The dragons didn't permit anyone to think outside the box."

"What does that mean, 'think outside the box'?" Miraak queried. "What box?"

Tamsyn chuckled. "It's a metaphor. The box is an imaginary one filled with all the rules and regulations that run a business or organization. It's used to ensure that they run smoothly, and that everyone does exactly what is expected of them to deal with any problems that might crop up. But sometimes all those rules and regulations get in the way of creative thinking, which can often find solutions not covered by those same rules and regulations. So, if a person, or a group of people, can 'think outside the box,' it means they can explore more creative options to get the job done."

Miraak considered this. "And you endorse this line of thinking?"

"Isn't that what we're doing now?" Tamsyn countered. "You can't leave Apocrypha on your own; you don't have the power. I have the power, but not the knowledge. You helped me gain the knowledge and I assist you with the power. We're working together – thinking outside the box – to find our way out of here. It's something Hermaeus Mora wouldn't expect."

"He will most certainly attack when Sahrotaar returns," Miraak frowned. "Sahrotaar may be unable to pass through your barrier, since it was created by you. You don't know the dragons as intimately as I do, therefore you could not construct your barrier in a manner that would allow them to pass through."

Tamsyn nodded. "I'm afraid you're right about that. And when Marcus shows up, I'll have to drop it to let him through. Right now, it's built to keep everything and everybody out. I didn't want to take chances."

"Understandable," Miraak conceded, "and unfortunate. We must be on our guard. Mora has already made two separate attempts to get through. I believe he may be testing the boundaries."

Tamsyn merely nodded. She was confident her barrier would hold, but unsure for how long. If Mora decided to launch a full-scale attack, she feared that neither her shield nor Miraak's could withstand the assault.

"It seems impossible to believe you could ever have made mistakes, Arch-Mage," Miraak said thoughtfully. "What I have read about you only extends to the life you have lived in Nirn. There is nothing known about the life you lived before."

"That's understandable," Tamsyn shrugged. "That life belonged to Gaea, not Nirn. But I'm not perfect; not by any means."

"If you don't mind, I would very much like to know more about that other life," Miraak said. It was as close as he would get to saying, "Please," Tamsyn thought.

She was reluctant to reveal too much about herself here in Apocrypha. Miraak had assured her that Hermaeus Mora could not hear them, yet he had been able to hear Tamsyn just fine during his initial attack. How? Could this all be a plan of Mora's, to have Miraak gain her confidence to inveigle the secrets from her that she would not willingly give to Mora?

"There isn't much to tell," she replied cautiously. "I was born, I grew up, got married and had babies, grew old and died, then found myself here."

Miraak studied her for a long moment before speaking.

"I…never knew a time when I didn't belong to the Dragon Cult," he said, surprising her. "It was the only way to avoid becoming a sacrifice myself. My training began at an early age, and was designed to make me blindly loyal and obedient to the dragons, and to the Priests that ran the Temples."

Once he began speaking, it seemed as though he couldn't stop, and Tamsyn listened raptly as he described an age before history in Tamriel, when the dragons were revered and worshipped as gods, where Priests interpreted their will and their law, and where the common people suffered under unspeakable cruelties.

"How did you learn you were Dragonborn?" Tamsyn asked quietly.

"I always knew I was different from the other acolytes," Miraak confessed. "I could never seem to harden myself to the sacrifices as the others did. The Priests would use the _thu'um_ during the rituals, and it angered me because I could _almost_ understand what they were saying, and because I felt they didn't deserve to speak that language. It was meant for the _dov,_ though of course, at the time, I didn't know why it upset me so."

"Why did you turn against the Dragon Cult, then?" Tamsyn wondered. "If you had been brought up in that life and had been accepted into their order, why rebel?"

"That came much later," Miraak replied, "after I was grown to manhood. I had successfully wiped out an entire village that plotted against the Cult and was given Solstheim as my reward. At least, that is what the stories tell. The reality is much more…humiliating."

"Go on," Tamsyn urged softly.

"I betrayed them," Miraak murmured, turning his handsome face aside. "I promised to protect them from the Priests of Ahbiilok, our Lord. I truly intended to warn them when search parties were sent to the neighboring villages looking for sacrifices, or to plunder resources. I did not know at the time that I was being used. When the search party went out, Lord Ahbiilok went with them. He took great joy in burning the village to the ground, and the searchers surrounded the village to ensure that not one single man, woman or child escaped."

Miraak drew a ragged breath. "It was the scorched body of a young boy, not much older than I was when I went to the Temple, that steeled my resolve against the Cult and the dragons. But I didn't know how I could fight back."

"That's when Mora found you?"

"Actually, I found him," Miraak gave a self-deprecating smile. "I found an abandoned Shrine to him, and in my explorations, awoke his interest in me. It was Mora who revealed to me that I was Dragonborn. No one had ever heard of such a thing before, or knew what it meant. It was Mora who taught me the first _thu'um_ I ever learned, Unrelenting Force, and over the course of the next handful of years, he continued to advise and counsel me. All I needed to do was certain smalls tasks for him, such as planting one of his Black Books where certain people could not fail to find it, or leading individuals to his Shrine for him to ensnare with his enticements of Apocrypha, and the hidden knowledge that lay there."

"I assume he permitted you access to Apocrypha?" Tamsyn guessed.

"He did," Miraak acknowledged, inclining his head. "But the access was limited, and while I learned much, there was still so much more I wanted to know that Mora withheld from me – unless I performed other tasks for him."

"So, Mora gave you the knowledge and power to go up against the Dragon Cult," Tamsyn mused. "How is it, then, that Vahlok was able to defeat you?"

Miraak shrugged. "I underestimated him. He was stronger than I. My pride would not let me admit then that I could not defeat him. I had killed dragons by then, after all, and thought myself to be invincible. In my supreme arrogance, I felt I did not need to concern myself with the Priests. Once I had eliminated the dragons, I thought, the Priests would see that I was stronger, and would follow me." He paused. "I did not understand then, that men are not dragons."

"But you and Vahlok fought anyway," Tamsyn prompted.

"We did," Miraak nodded. "And the land suffered for it. We ripped it apart with the enormity of our arcane power." A slight smile crossed his face. "If you thought _Fingers of the Mountain_ was powerful, try _Earthquake_ some time." The smile faded. "I did not know then that Vahlok was a much more accomplished mage than I was. I had studied what became known as the School of Destruction until I was a past master at it, but I had eschewed the other Schools, believing them to be of little use. Vahlok was also a former military commander. His skill and understanding at tactics left me scrambling to stay ahead of him."

"Did the dragons side with Vahlok?" Tamsyn asked.

"No," Miraak answered. "To this day I am unsure why they withheld themselves. Perhaps they were hesitant, knowing I could use the _thu'um_ as they could, and were reluctant to put themselves in harms' way. But I think the more likely reason was that, in their arrogance, the _dov_ felt this was a matter between men, and therefore it was beneath them to intervene. Perhaps they even felt that whether Vahlok won or I did, they would deal with the matter once one of us was eliminated."

Tamsyn nodded. It made sense. "Why did Mora pull you out of the battle?" she asked.

"I was losing," Miraak said bluntly. "I was certain that by causing the earthquake that split Solstheim away from the mainland, that Vahlok and his army would be unable to follow me."

"What happened?"

Miraak pulled a sour face. "The bastard _flew_ over the chasm," the First Dragonborn growled. "I was unprepared for that. No one in Tamriel had ever done that before. And no one has done it since – until you, that is, Arch-Mage." Miraak gave her a steady look. "How did you manage that? Are you perhaps descended from Vahlok?"

Tamsyn gave a rich, deep chuckle. "I have no idea who the person was who had this body before me, so I can't speak to that," she grinned. "But I can tell you that in Gaea it was not unusual for people to fly. We had flying machines, though, to carry more than one person at a time. And while I can't tell you _how_ those machines were built to fly, I did know something about aerodynamics – the science of flight – to know how they were _supposed_ to. I simply applied that general knowledge to achieve the desired result through magic. It wasn't that hard to do…at least, for me it wasn't. My scholars still haven't figured it out."

"You are truly gifted, Arch-Mage. Probably the most gifted mage since Shalidor. I doubt many of your predecessors would have considered some of the research you have studied."

"I'm driven to succeed, Miraak," Tamsyn said firmly. "I cannot and will not let the Aldmeri Dominion win this war. Anything I can think of from my old life, that might help us here, I've tried to achieve through magic."

"Such as your ability to fly," Miraak noted. Tamsyn nodded.

"That's one thing. The ear buds are another."

"'Ear buds'?" Miraak echoed, perplexed.

Tamsyn pointed to the stud in her right earlobe. "It's enchanted with a form of communication magic I developed," she explained. "There aren't many of these, and those who have them are placed rather high in our resistance movement, so we can stay in instantaneous communication with each other over long distances. We had something similar where I came from."

"Instantaneous communication?" Miraak queried. "How does it work?"

"I concentrate on the person I wish to speak to," Tamsyn said. "Then I call them by name. The line of communication is then established. We can speak as though we're right next to each other, even if we're at opposite ends of Skyrim."

Privately, Miraak marveled at the Arch-Mage's claims. If what she had said was true – and he had no reason any longer to doubt her – then it was clear there was no place for him in Solstheim as its ultimate ruler. Times had changed, indeed. Where did that leave him, then? He had no desire to remain in Apocrypha any longer than necessary, but what would he do once he returned? The Arch-Mage had offered him a place at her College, and it was tempting. But he had never been a man who enjoyed taking orders from others, and it had been his experience that he had little patience for teaching. Still, to be on the leading edge of a rebellion against oppressors, as he had once attempted, was an idea that appealed to him. He refused to give in to the thought that he might be looking for redemption.

 _That ship has sailed,_ he thought bitterly. _I have done too many terrible things to be forgiven._

Still, the Arch-Mage seemed to trust him now, and he shifted uncomfortably once more, keenly aware of the piece of parchment inside his tunic. He knew he should return it to her, but the hurt and betrayal which could result made him recoil. He didn't know why it mattered so much to him, her opinion of him. He only knew he dared not risk destroying the delicate level of confidence that had grown between them, so he remained silent.

Tamsyn spoke again, and it was clear to him she was still curious about the events which brought him to Apocrypha in the first place.

"Why didn't Hermaeus Mora send you back, after saving you from Vahlok?" she asked. "He could have plopped you down on a hill nearby, or within the shelter of your Temple, where you could have regrouped and made another attempt."

Miraak shook his dark head. "In Mora's eyes, I had failed him as his Champion. Mora had given me the tools to become the ruler of the known world, and I fell far short of his expectations. I remained in Apocrypha as punishment for that failure, though Mora made it seem at first that he was merely preparing me for a second attempt. It was an attempt that never came."

Tamsyn considered this. "Do you think that perhaps Mora set you up?" she ventured. "That maybe he didn't give you everything you needed, so that you _would_ fail, and he could keep you here?"

"That only occurred to me when too much time had passed," Miraak nodded, "and I learned through the history books which ended up here that the First Tongues had banished Alduin outside of time. I thought perhaps that Mora would allow me to return. When he did not, I rebelled against him."

He paused and blew out a sigh of exasperation. "It was foolish of me," he continued. "I was a prisoner in Hermaeus Mora's realm, attempting to rebel against him in his own world. I should have known the end was inevitable."

"What did he do to you?" Tamsyn breathed, deep green eyes full of concern.

"I was locked into solitary confinement, for lack of a better term," Miraak admitted. "I spent several hundred years in a small area with no light, unable to leave, and with nothing to pass the time but my own thoughts, which were not the best company to have for an age."

Tamsyn gasped in dismay. "How could you have survived that?" she cried. "Your body was physically here! How is it that you didn't die of starvation?"

Miraak shrugged. "I found a spell in one of Mora's books. _Fabricate,_ it was called. It essentially allowed me to create anything from nothing more than the magical energies that surround us all. And despite the gloominess of Apocrypha, there is raw magic here everywhere."

"I've never heard of that spell," Tamsyn murmured.

"I'm not surprised," Miraak shrugged again. "The spell has been lost since before history was recorded. In retrospect, I can almost believe Mora _wanted_ me to find that spell, to keep me alive here for his own amusement. He still needed willing hands to do his dirty work in Nirn, and I am not ashamed to admit I eagerly looked forward to those times when he would allow my mind to return to Tamriel."

"Miraak," Tamsyn said hesitantly, "I know we talked about this before, but now that it looks more hopeful that you can return to Nirn, have you given any thought as to what you'll do? You mentioned visiting a shrine to Akatosh…"

Miraak was not surprised she had remembered that confession. At the time he spoke the words, his only objective was to win the Arch-Mage over, to get her cooperation in helping him escape Apocrypha. Now, it looked as though that desire might actually come true. She was probing, attempting to divine what his intentions were.

"I…would like to do that," he admitted, and found to his amazement that the words were true. "But I do not know if Akatosh would accept me. I have been…tainted."

"My experiences with the Dragon God of Time aren't as close and personal as Marcus'," Tamsyn said, "but I think the Boss would take you back, if you truly rejected Hermaeus Mora."

"The 'Boss'?" Miraak queried, amusement playing around his lips. "And what did you mean about the Last Dragonborn's 'close and personal' relationship with the Chief of the Nine?"

"Marcus has always been able to…speak with Akatosh," Tamsyn admitted. "Silently, in his mind," she added. "He told me once that soon after we came to Skyrim, he began hearing this dry, sardonic voice in his mind that he called his 'inner dragon.' He said that at first he thought the observations were coming from his subconscious, but he soon realized it had a life of its own. And not long after that, he came to realize that it was Akatosh Himself, helping him to become stronger, to be the Dragonborn he was meant to be."

Miraak's face, usually so implacably calm, was a mask of shock and despair.

"I heard that voice once…" he whispered, turning away. "I thought…I thought it was my own…" His voice trailed off. He glanced around the Summit. He needed to be alone, but there was nowhere to go.

Tamsyn seemed to understand. "Why don't you head to _The Forbidden Fruit_ for a while?" she suggested gently. "I'll keep watch here for Sahrotaar, or another attack by Mora."

Not looking at her, Miraak gave a jerk of his head in acceptance and fled to the tunnel that led to the pocket of Aetherius, trapped within the Hell that was Apocrypha.

Tamsyn watched him go, sympathy for the First Dragonborn etched on her face. Though she had no idea what had upset him, she knew instinctively that Miraak had just learned something that had shaken him to the core. Whatever it was, she hoped he would be able to come to terms with it before it was too late for them both.

* * *

Marcus and Azura made their way through the maze-like stacks of ruined books. Returning from Chapter Four, the pair found another gate with a scrye some distance away with which to open it. There had been a Seeker in the maze, but the two had been able to come at it from two directions, and it didn't last against their arcane assault. Marcus drank a couple of potions to restore his magicka, since there didn't seem to be any fonts in this section.

The corridor beyond the maze took a turn to the right, and the next two Chapters awaited them on pedestals.

"Chapter Five next?" Marcus asked. "Or should we go straight to Six?"

"I never liked reading ahead," Azura quipped. "Besides, we might miss something important in Chapter Five."

"Five it is, then," Marcus agreed. They both reached for the Chapter.

* * *

"Well, _that's_ disappointing," Azura said sourly as they examined the small chamber in which they found themselves. The only thing here was a scrye and an assortment of books on the table. Most of the books, Marcus already had at home, and Azura – by her own admission – didn't collect them as she had no permanent home of her own yet.

"Should we take the books?" she asked as she automatically brushed the scrye. "We could sell them."

Nothing happened when the scrye closed, but both knew by now that it might have opened something up further ahead.

"I don't want to get too bogged down," Marcus replied, shaking his head. "Let's head back to see where the other Chapter takes us."

* * *

"I get the feeling we're going around in circles," Azura complained. They were in yet another small chamber with little to recommend it. A short corridor turned quickly to the right past another pod-chest which contained some treasure that mollified the Bosmer mage's frustration somewhat. Not much further along, the corridor widened into an alcove with two pedestals holding Chapters Seven and Eight.

"Seven?" Azura asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Marcus nodded. "Seven," he confirmed.

* * *

The Seeker attacked as soon as they materialized, and Marcus stumbled a few steps. The floor here was tilted, and he realized they were on a platform that had sunken part way into the waters of Apocrypha. Azura launched a wall of frost at the creature, which recoiled, and Marcus closed in with the ebony mace. It took two hits before shrieking and collapsing.

"I like this thing!" he exclaimed, chortling.

"There isn't much here," Azura observed.

"I see a scrye over there," Marcus said, pointing to the lowest end of the platform. "And some books on that altar table."

"Most of the books we've seen are ruined, though," Azura pointed out.

"These aren't," Marcus replied. "They've got arcane sigils on them, too."

Azura came over to look at them. "These aren't going to help me much," she said. "These are skill books, rather than spell books; there's one for each school of magic."

"Why won't they help you?" Marcus asked, curious.

"Because I'm already a Master in at least three of these schools," the Bosmer girl replied modestly. "You take them, Marcus. I think they'll do you more good."

"Why don't you take the two that you're not a Master in?" he offered generously.

Azura shook her head. "At a certain point, books don't help any more. You have to earn your Master degree all on your own, with just what you know. You take them," she said again. "My goal here is to get you strong enough in magic to go up against a Daedric Prince."

Marcus carefully packed the books away, musing to himself with some amusement what Tamsyn would say when she found out how much stronger he had become as a mage. Saying nothing, he walked over to the scrye and brushed it. The tendrils curled up tightly and the pod closed over it.

"Nothing happened!" Azura exclaimed, disappointed.

"Maybe it opens up something further on," Marcus shrugged.

"Let's go back, then," Azura sighed. "We can't go forward, and there's nothing else here."

Marcus agreed, and the two headed back to Chapter Six.

* * *

"What is this we're on now?" Marcus asked. "Chapter Eight?"

"Yep," Azura chirped. Ahead of them was an archway, flanked by curious-looking lights that Marcus thought resembled street lamps, but in an unearthly, organic form. To the right were two alcoves which contained nothing of interest. A corridor wound around to the left, but ended in the open area beyond the arch. There was another altar table and stamina font in the corridor.

A short flight of stone steps led up to a filigree platform and bridge that led part way across to the structure at the other side of the murky waters of Oblivion. The remaining section of bridgework was raised at the far end, but a nearby scrye soon brought it down, and the two were able to continue across.

This area seemed more of a permanent structure, having stone pillars and statuary of the serpentine dragons surrounding the perimeter of the landing, facing out towards Apocrypha. Two large pools of inky-green ooze burbled on either side of the chamber, and just beyond that was a closed gate, through which they could see a short flight of steps up to a large Book.

"That's the end of _The Hidden Twilight!"_ Azura exclaimed. "I'm sure of it!"

"Let's go, then," Marcus grinned.

They had gone no more than a half dozen steps when two large, slimy behemoths rose, one from each pool.

"Frickin' Lurkers again!" Marcus growled. "Use your Paralysis spell, Azura!"

"I'm on it!" she crowed, and launched one at the closest Lurker.

It shrugged her spell off, and Azura stood there, dumbfounded. "Whaaat?" she gaped. "I thought—"

"Azura, watch out!" Marcus cried, and launched himself at her in a flying tackle that would have done any pro-football player proud. He knocked her clear of the stream of acid tentacles the Lurker spewed forth, and the two tumbled into a heap with Azura on top. Instinctively she raised her Ward as it vomited forth another disgusting mass of tentacles before closing with the two companions.

"Move, Marcus!" Azura yelled, and tumbled nimbly out of the way of the creature's stomping attack.

The second Lurker was closing in to join the party, and in desperation Azura sent another powerful Paralysis spell its way. This one went down, and Azura noticed it was smaller than the first one.

 _I get it,_ she thought. _The bigger ones are just a bit more resistant to it._

Ironically, she felt better having figured it out. She concentrated her attacks on the smaller Lurker, and hoped Marcus would be able to deal with its big brother.

Marcus had rolled out of the way as soon as Azura had yelled, and got to his feet quickly, drawing the ebony mace. This was no time to experiment, or see how well he could manage just using spells. This gargantuan nightmare needed to go down quickly.

A mammoth foot was descending and once again, Marcus had to scramble to get out of the way, but he swung the ebony mace with precision and heard the creature roar with pain. It didn't shrivel and dry up, though, as the Seekers had. Nor did it reduce to a puddle of goo as the other Lurkers had. This one was made of sterner stuff.

Another stream of bilious vomit was directed at him, and he threw up a Ward just in time. When the splash cleared he swung again, aiming at the creature's knees. Though it didn't go down, Marcus noticed with satisfaction that it was limping now.

From the tail of his eye he saw Azura beating on the other Lurker, which was lying stiff on the floor.

 _Focus, Marcus,_ he told himself, and struck out at the ham-fist coming at him. A sound like something punching through ice scintillated through the air and the Lurker howled in rage as it pulled its fist back, shaking it. Ichor splattered from the now useless appendage. Marcus took advantage of the creature's distraction to aim a blow directly at the Lurker's midsection, and a _whoof!_ of foul air escaped it, nearly choking Marcus in the process.

Eyes streaming, he dodged the next projectile vomiting and found himself behind it. Grasping the mace with both hands – it was certainly big enough – Marcus put all his strength into the blow he leveled at the behemoth's back.

It sounded like wood being chopped, and the force with which he struck lodged the mace in the Lurker's spine. It writhed and struggled, and wrenched the mace from Marcus' hands, as hard as he tried to hang on to it. With a final shriek, it collapsed, dissolving into goo, and the ebony mace rolled to one side. Marcus scooped it up before it could roll off the edge of the platform into the waters below.

Breathing hard, he turned to help Azura and found it unnecessary. She had already dispatched the Lurker she had been fighting and was sifting through its remains.

"I thought you said paralysis worked," Marcus grinned, glad the fight was over and neither of them had been so much as scratched.

"Well, I _thought_ it was a weakness," Azura protested. "But that one you were fighting was bigger than any I've seen so far. They must be getting tougher."

"He was tough alright," Marcus agreed. "Let's hope we don't have to fight too many more like _him."_

Azura agreed, and after looting the remains of the larger Lurker, the two turned to the gate at the back of the platform. A scrye nearby opened it. There was a bit of treasure here, as well, including soul gems and scrolls, and Azura dutifully packed it all away until they were ready to deal with the Book on the pedestal. From here it was clear that this was, indeed, the end of the Book. They touched it together, and three green orbs rose from it to hover, waiting, over their heads.

"You know, Marcus," Azura began. "It's the oddest thing, but somehow I _know_ what these are."

"Me too," Marcus agreed. "I know I've never seen them before, though."

"Mora's rewards, for all he's put us through," Azura murmured.

Marcus examined each orb carefully. Somehow, instinctively, he knew what powers they granted. The first would give him the ability to summon a field of writhing tentacles which would poison any who attempted to get close to him.

 _Well,_ that's _out,_ he thought with some measure of disgust. _Why would I want_ that?

The second would phase his opponent to a place between worlds, between Nirn and Oblivion. They couldn't hurt him, but neither could he do anything to them.

 _Useful in limited situations, perhaps,_ Marcus thought. _What else have you got, Mora?_

The last one would immediately restore his health, stamina and magicka once per day.

" _Now_ we're talking!" Marcus grinned. He reached for the orb at the same time as Azura. Upon seeing this, he pulled back. "Did you want that one, too?" he asked, hiding his disappointment.

"I don't see why we both can't have the same reward, Marcus," Azura smiled. "We went through this together, but we're each of us two individuals. We should each be able to claim the reward we want."

"Yeah, but Hermaeus Mora cheats," Marcus drawled. "On three, then?" he grinned.

Azura nodded, and they both touched the orb for Mora's Boon at the same time. Marcus could feel the knowledge settling into a little-used corner of his mind.

"It could come in handy," he joked, "if I only remember I have it!"

"I think when push comes to shove, you'll remember," his companion smirked. "Shall we head back, then?"

They leaned into the Book together.

* * *

"Well, that didn't take you two very long," Neloth commented. "It's only just past the lunch hour. Varona left a cold collation over there for you." He gestured with one long, elegant hand to a nearby table, and Marcus realized how hungry he was.

"You were right about the mace," he told Neloth as he and Azura ate. "It came in very useful, but it didn't always take out the creatures with one hit."

"No?" Neloth raised a bushy eyebrow. "I'm surprised. Perhaps it's not what I thought it was, then."

"What did you think it was?" Azura asked.

"I'd rather not say," Neloth replied mysteriously. "At least, not until I'm certain whether I'm right or wrong. Will you be looking into any of the other Books today?"

"There's still plenty of the day ahead of us," Marcus answered. "And the sooner we plow through them, the sooner I can get to my wife, so the short answer is yes. We'll read another one after we eat."

"Which one did you want to go through, Marcus?" Azura asked.

"How about the one we found in Raven Rock Mine – I mean, Bloodskal Barrow?" Marcus suggested. "I think you said it was _The Winds of Change_?"

"That's right," Azura nodded. "Any particular reason why that one?"

Marcus chuckled. "Because it's the next one down in the stack," he smirked.

Azura returned his grin. "That's as good a reason as any."

* * *

They found themselves on a platform, surrounded by the sea of Apocrypha once more. A twisted archway of stacked books in front of them reminded Marcus of models he'd seen of the DNA molecule. Behind them, across the water, rose an edifice made completely from ruined books, impossible to get to from here. Perhaps there might be some way to it through Chapter Books, as there had been in _The Hidden Twilight._

Ahead of them, their path took them across filigreed causeways clogged with dirty, matted parchment pages that fluttered in the wind. Tentacles reared out of the murky water and snapped at them if they got too close to the edges of the causeway. The arch was flanked by two more of those organic streetlights Marcus had seen in the previous Book. Over their heads, another light floated like a drone, shedding little light in the gloomy day of Apocrypha. They passed under another arch, this one made of stone, and mounted the steps to the landing ahead.

A shimmering, warping, twisting of the air in front of them alerted them to the presence of a Seeker. Azura sent out a wave of frost towards it, but it seemed to have no effect. Then the Seeker materialized, and Marcus launched his own Ice Storm.

This time the Seeker shuddered as the wave hit, its tentacles curling tightly up to its maw. Four arms waved in desperation to send out its percussive attack and to duplicate itself at the same time.

"Take the one on the left!" Marcus called to Azura.

"I'm on it!" she shot back, and maneuvered herself into a better position on the landing. The Seeker sent out pulse after pulse of its draining attack, but Azura kept her Ward up in her left hand while shooting out another Ice Storm with her right. The storm was wide enough to catch both Seekers from her angle, and Marcus grinned as his Seeker – the original – shuddered once more.

"Keep it up!" he encouraged Azura. "He's looking a bit gray."

" _Everything_ here looks gray, Marcus, if it isn't green!" she quipped back.

The original Seeker sent forth another strong pulse of energy drain towards Marcus, and he gritted his teeth, unable to get his Ward up in time.

" _KRII LUN AUS!"_ he bellowed.

The effect on the Seeker was comical. It writhed and twisted, as if attempting to remove something that was bothering it. Marcus grinned and sent out two Icy Spears in swift succession. With the second Spear, the Seeker collapsed, leaving only its robes behind. The duplicate that Azura had been fighting also winked out.

"What did you do to it?" she asked.

"It's called 'Marked for Death,'" Marcus explained. "I use it to soften up my enemies, to make it easier to take them out."

"We could have used that before, you know," she said severely.

Marcus spread his hands in supplication. "Hey, I'm still trying to figure out what works on them."

"I suppose you've got a point," Azura conceded. "The Seekers shrugged off my shock spells like they were nothing. And the Lurkers seem to resist everything but paralysis; and even then, that last one we fought ignored it."

"They're becoming stronger," Marcus frowned.

Azura smiled brightly. "Yes, but so are we! And you in particular! I'm proud of you for not reaching for your sword first!"

Marcus said nothing, but as they searched the platform, he basked under Azura's praise. He knew he might never be a Master of any school of magic, but it was good to know he was better than he had been. He wondered what Tamsyn's reaction would be, and felt certain she would be delighted.

The platform had nothing of interest; three small stone tables were set here and there, with a few ruined books on each, flapping in the wind and adding to the overall deteriorated look of the place. There was another short flight of stone steps up to another platform with a pool set to one side. Marcus eyed the pool cautiously, but nothing emerged from it, other than another tentacle, which cracked like a whip at them.

There were several small stone tables here, too, and many ruined books. A thrumming sound came from beyond the filigreed walls that backed this area. Looking in that direction, Marcus noticed a closed gate with a scrye standing nearby, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of the thrum. It sounded like another Seeker.

Azura wandered around the stone tables, picking up and looking at any book that hadn't already tattered away to uselessness. Wistfully she put them down again. Until she had a place of her own, it was pointless to try to collect them, no matter how rare they were. She pocketed the soul gems, however, knowing how Marcus felt about them.

The Dragonborn returned. "Anything good?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I think you've got all these already, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, these are fairly common. I found the way through, but I think there's a Seeker waiting on the other side."

"I'm ready," Azura promised. She brought frost into her hands as she spoke. They crouched and crept over to the gate. Marcus brushed the scrye, and it quivered and closed up. The gate creaked open.

The Seeker had its back to them, reading a book. Azura sent out her Ice Storm, and Marcus Shouted his Marked for Death. The Seeker staggered, and Marcus closed with Akaviri steel before it could turn. He knew the shock enchantment would be useless against it, but he hoped that the surprise attack they had launched against it would work in their favor.

It did. The Seeker dropped to the floor, evaporating away, leaving only its ragged robes. Marcus picked through the remains.

"Hey," he said, surprised. "Here's one I don't have! _The Legendary Scourge."_

"I don't think I've heard of that one," Azura commented, as Marcus packed it away. "Which way now? This way is blocked."

"Let's look around the corner," he replied. "The corridor continued past this point, I think."

What they found was a dead-end, however, with only an altar table scattered with books and soul gems, and a scrye that opened the gate blocking them.

 _CRACK!_

"OW!" Azura exclaimed. A pool of ichor was set just beyond the gate, and a tentacle lashed out as they stepped through. A large welt rose on Azura's face, and angrily she aimed a stream of frost at the offending pool, freezing it over. "I _dare_ you to try that again!" she stormed.

Marcus stifled a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Azura demanded.

"Nothing!" Marcus denied, holding up his hands defensively. "I was just remembering a…play I saw years ago. A group of adventurers were exploring a nasty, otherworldly dungeon when suddenly one of the denizens leaped out from a tunnel, grabbed one of the men and disappeared with him. The wizard in the group threw a spell to collapse the tunnel and shouted, 'You will come out no more!' One of the other guys, thoroughly spooked, cried out, ' _What?!_ What will come out no more?'"

"I fail to see the comparison," Azura huffed, but as she turned away, Marcus saw the corner of her mouth lift, just before her healing spell went off.

They followed the tunnel past two magicka fonts and a scrye that opened the gate at the end, and found themselves outside once more, in a sort of enclosed courtyard. The walls here were iron filigree-work, and the floor was flagstone packed here and there with compressed parchment. A large pool of inky-green water sat to their right, near a scrye. Beyond that, a raised platform area was closed off by a latticed gate and no steps with which to reach it.

To their left, a filigree ramp led up to the same raised area, enclosed with more lace-work iron. Two magicka fonts raised their hideous serpentine-sculpted heads on both sides of the courtyard.

"Left seems to be the easier way," Azura remarked. "But I think we know by now that nothing is as easy as it seems in Apocrypha."

"Let's check it out anyway," Marcus said. "But watch that pool. Nasty things come out of pools here."

"Was that a joke?" Azura bristled.

"Nope," he said seriously. "It was a reminder." Azura settled down, but kept an eye on the pool as they descended the stairs that led down to the courtyard.

The Lurker rose from the pool as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She was big, and Marcus wondered if Hermaeus Mora was upping the ante, making his creatures tougher and stronger than they might have been otherwise.

"Let's flank it!" Marcus called out.

"Paralysis first," Azura said shaking her head. "I have to try!"

She sent her spell towards the hideous she-beast, but as Marcus feared, it was shrugged off.

"Maybe we just need to soften her up first," he said, and took a deep breath.

" _GAAN LAH HAAS!"_

With that, the Lurker shuddered, and Marcus grinned. "Alright!" he gasped. "That had some effect!" Knowing his spells wouldn't affect the creature, he drew his sword and the ebony mace. With the ease of long practice, he launched himself into his fighting routine, avoiding the blows and the tentacle attacks of the Lurker as he worked to whittle her down.

Just past the gargantuan nightmare, he could see Azura attacking from the rear with both Sting and Grave. The she-beast was at least as strong as her counterpart in the other Book, and she put up a terrible fight, but the ebony mace struck true, and on the third hit from it, the Lurker shrieked and collapsed into goo.

"I'll say it again," Marcus grinned, breathing hard. "I _like_ this thing!"

From here it was a simple matter of activating the scrye on the left-hand platform which opened up the stairs on the right-hand side. The scrye on the right opened the gate, and after taking what valuables they could find, Marcus and Azura climbed up to the platform that held the end of the Book, hidden behind a curious sculpture of twisted tentacles that emitted a greenish haze into the air.

Three green orbs rose from the Book as they approached, and once more, the pair knew instinctively what each orb represented.

"Companion's Insight, eh?" Marcus murmured. "My Shouts and spells won't hurt my friends in battle? Sold!"

"That works for me, too," Azura concurred. "I may not have Shouts, but it would be nice if I could launch a wave of ice towards the enemy and not catch my friends in it."

"Your friends thank you for that," Marcus grinned. They touched the orb at the same time, and waited for the knowledge to become part of them.

"I really do hope this doesn't mean I'm becoming Mora's Champion," Marcus frowned.

"I don't think so, Marcus," Azura said, patting his shoulder. "I think Akatosh knew what you might encounter here. I think, perhaps, that this was part of your training, if you will, to become Dragonborn. To prove that you can be Dragonborn without his help."

"Maybe you're right, Azura," Marcus smiled. "It helps to think of it that way. I just…sometimes I just miss hearing his voice in my mind, letting me know when I've done the right thing."

"I don't think you'll ever be without his guiding voice," Azura soothed. "You just might have to listen a little more closely, to your heart instead of your head."

"Thanks, Azura," Marcus beamed. "Shall we head back?"

* * *

"Back already?" Neloth queried, surprised. "You've barely been gone an hour."

"It was a quick read," Azura quipped.

"Well, did you find anything interesting there?" the Telvanni wizard asked eagerly. "I've only been through the one Book, so I'm interested to learn what your experiences were."

"As Azura said, it was quick," Marcus confirmed. "There appeared to be only the one Chapter. I did find one book there that I don't already have at home." He pulled the book from his back pack.

" _The Legendary Scourge,"_ Neloth murmured. "Of course! That's it! I knew I'd heard of it before!"

"What are you talking about, Neloth?" Azura frowned.

"Yeah," Marcus echoed. "What's the legendary scourge? Scourge of what?" He had the book, _Scourge of the Gray Quarter_ at home, and found it to be a distasteful diatribe against the Dunmer in Windhelm.

Neloth chuckled, the first sound of mirth Marcus could remember hearing from the mer. He pointed to the mace hanging from Marcus' belt. "Young man," he smirked, _"that_ is the Legendary Scourge!"

* * *

 _[Author's Note: This was a fun one to write. We are actually getting into the Black Books themselves. Next up, Marcus and Azura continue to plumb the depths of Apocrypha. Meanwhile Tamsyn holds off Hermaeus Mora while Miraak has a revelation he didn't expect. As always, thank you for staying with me!]_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _[Author's Note: My goodness! The start of a new semester in my Spanish class, my work schedule is still chaotic, and my poor Samsung S4 took a bath in the laundry. In the words of Dr. McCoy, "It's dead, Jim." It turns on, and the sound works, but the screen remains black. (Sad face.)_

 _Anyway, here is the latest chapter. I am anticipating probably about one or two more chapters to "Into the Ashes" to wrap things up. After that, I will be working on a story with a character you've all met before, Dante Greyshadow, called "In the Company of Thieves." This story will provide some necessary background to the final war against the Aldmeri Dominion. For now, let's get back to Marcus and company.]_

* * *

"I still don't understand," Marcus frowned.

"Well, the book will explain most of it," Neloth drawled. "But in a nutshell, you are carrying the Mace of Malacath, Mackkan's Hammer, Bane of Daedra. It was a weapon forged from sacred ebony in the fountains of Fickledire and blessed by Malacath himself…or cursed, if you choose to look at it that way."

"Cursed!?" Marcus exclaimed, dismayed. "Cursed how?"

"Oh, not cursed against mortals, if that's what you're worried about," Neloth smirked again. "No, I mean it was cursed against the Dark Kin, the Daedra."

"How can it be cursed against the Daedra when a Daedric Prince made it?" Azura queried.

"My dear, you do not understand the motivations of Malacath," Neloth said smugly. "He is the Daedric Prince of the Spurned, the Outcast and the Ostracized. Malacath was created when Boethiah ate the Altmeri ancestor spirit Trinimac, although Malacath himself claims this is more metaphorical than actual. His most devout followers became the Orsimer, the Orcs. In any case, he was no longer considered part of the Aedra, because of the transformation, and the Daedric Princes spurned him as well, which is why he took the outcasts unto himself."

"Where does the mace fit into all this?" Marcus asked.

"Scourge was forged by Malacath and dedicated to mortals to aid them in battle against the Daedra," Neloth explained. "As such, it can sometimes banish them to the Void with one strike. Any Daedra who attempted to pick up and wield Scourge would also find themselves banished." He paused and studied Marcus with a keen eye. "I don't know if that theory was ever tested against a Daedric Prince, however. It is also claimed," Neloth went on, "that the mortal wielder of Scourge has the power to summon Daedra to fight for him. You might want to explore the truth of that. Having said that, I would be cautious in your usage of Scourge from here on," he warned them. "Using it too frequently in Mora's domain might call unwanted attention to you, and tip your hand to him that you have something of which even _he_ might have to be wary."

"How is it you know so much about Scourge, Neloth?" Azura challenged.

Neloth's ruby eyes looked into the distance. "A colleague of mine, Divayth Fyr, came into possession of Scourge and kept it at Tel Fyr, his tower near Vvardenfell. Fyr was a formidable wizard of House Telvanni, and conducted exhausting research into the disease known as Corprus, which was a blight that deformed the body and debilitated the mind. Fyr created a 'Corprusarium,' where those who were infected could go to be treated – or at least, made more comfortable – until they eventually succumbed to the disease. One of his most notable patients was the last living Dwemer, a mer named Yagrum Bagarn."

"You're saying there was no cure, then?" Marcus asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly," Neloth demurred. "When the Nerevarine became infected with Corprus, he went to Fyr's Corprusarium, seeking relief from the disease. He allowed Fyr to use some rather unusual and unorthodox remedies that had yet to be tried on anyone."

"Did it cure him?" Azura wondered.

"Not of the Corprus, no," Neloth admitted. "It only held it in remission. The Nerevarine never advanced to the later stages of Corprus, which would have included physical deformity and mental instability. There was, however, an unexpected side-benefit which even Fyr did not anticipate."

"What was that?" Marcus asked.

"The Nerevarine somehow acquired an increase in strength and endurance. He was a strong man before, but was nearly unstoppable afterwards. It was said later that no disease after that ever affected him, even _sanguinare vampiris."_

"So you really knew the Nerevarine?" Azura breathed. She knew of the legendary hero, of course. One could not live long in Morrowind or on Solstheim without hearing tales of him.

"I was there the day the Nerevarine's identity was confirmed," Neloth said softly, before his brow furrowed. "I also suspected it was he who stole Scourge from my colleague, Divayth Fyr. I knew Fyr had it, but it vanished, and was not seen again in Morrowind, until you showed up with it, young Dragonborn. It had been so long since I had seen it, I wasn't sure if it truly was Scourge, until you found that book."

Marcus unhooked the ebony mace from his belt and examined it closely. The craftsmanship was unlike any he'd ever seen. The red gold embellishments in the center of the head, tracing the edges of the blades, made it seem as though it was alive and pulsing with latent energy.

"I sure hope Malacath doesn't want this back any time soon," he murmured.

Neloth snorted. "Young man, I doubt he would mind at all. You would be using it for exactly the purpose for which it was forged."

Marcus and Azura spent the rest of the afternoon trading treasures they'd found in their recent excursions with Elynea and Revus Sarvani before returning to Tel Mithryn for the evening meal. Marcus put the books and other items he wanted to keep in a chest near the bed Varona had made up for him.

"It's nice of Azura to offer her trunk to you, but I thought you'd like your own," Varona told him. "Besides, I had an extra one downstairs, not being used for anything. Consider this room yours while you're here, Dragonborn."

"Thank you, Varona," Marcus smiled. "I really appreciate it!"

It was decided that they would rest the remainder of the day and recover from the effects of Apocrypha, starting again fresh in the morning. Azura spent the evening in the alchemy lab, brewing more potions to bring with them. Neloth sequestered himself in his reading room, and Talvas was poring over some ancient tomes. Marcus decided to see what _The Legendary Scourge_ could tell him about the artifact. He quickly found that though the first part of the slim volume was written in poetic style, relating a story of Mackkan fighting Daedra, the rest of the book contained what little was known about Scourge, pulled from other sources.

 _"'Not till the very evening they came,' answered he, and then told of his dealings with Mehrunes Dagon's thralls, saying that Mackkan would find it easier to whistle on the wind's tracks and go on a fool's errand than to fight his toads. Then said Mackkan:_

' _Now see to thy safety henceforward,_

 _And stick to thy parts and thy pride;_

 _Or this mallet of mine, Malacath's Scourge,_

 _Will meet with thine ear of a surety._

 _For quick as I can cry "Equality",_

 _Though eight arms thou couldst boast of,_

 _Such bumps thou shalt comb on thy brainpan,_

 _Thou that breakest the howes of the dead.' – The Legendary Scourge"_

The language was flowery, but the threat was there. Mackkan certainly was a badass!

 _"...yet though Malacath blessed Scourge to be potent against his Daedra kin, he thought not that it should fall into Daedric hands, then to serve as a tool for private war among caitiff and forsaken. Thus, did Malacath curse the device such that, should any dark kin seek to invoke its powers, that a void should open and swallow that Daedra, and purge him into Oblivion's voidstreams, from thence to pathfind back to the Real and Unreal Worlds in the full order of time. – The Book of Daedra"_

Marcus gave a low whistle. Malacath wasn't fooling around!

" _The Daedric Scourge is a mighty mace forged from sacred ebony in the Fires of Fickledire. The legendary weapon of Mackkan, it was once a fierce weapon used to send spirits of black back into Oblivion. The weapon has the ability to summon creatures from Oblivion. Once a tool used against the Daedric Lords in the Battlespire, it now roams the land with adventurers. – Tamrielic Lore, by Yagrum Bagarn"_

"And now it belongs to me," Marcus murmured, still in awe of the thing. Neloth was certainly correct that he should exercise caution on when and where to use it. No sense in letting Mora know they had a potential secret weapon against him. Perhaps he should leave it behind while they explored the other books. It was something to sleep on.

In the morning, after they had broken their fast, Azura and Marcus deliberated on which Book to explore next.

"The next one in the stack, I say," Marcus offered. "We really don't know one from the other, so what difference will it make?"

"I suppose you're right," Azura shrugged. She noticed the absence of Scourge at his belt. "Not taking the mace this time?"

"I thought I'd leave it behind for now," Marcus said carefully. "As Neloth pointed out, we don't want Hermaeus Mora to find out too soon that we have it."

"He wants to make you his Champion," Azura insisted. "He wants you to fight Miraak. Why should he care if you have it?"

"Because Mora already knows I won't go over to him," Marcus answered. "I've said as much to him."

"Then why is he still giving us these 'gifts' of his?" Azura wondered.

"I believe it's a calculated risk on his part," Neloth suggested. "Mora still counts on mortal greed as a motivator. Dangle enough enticements in front of someone and you're bound to find something they want badly enough to do your dirty work for you."

"'Every man has his price,'" Marcus quoted.

"Exactly!" Neloth beamed. "Except in your case, Dragonborn, he's hoping that one of these gifts of his might make you decide to forsake your gods and become his Champion, or at least, to become powerful enough to replace Miraak."

"That's never going to happen," Marcus rejected. "At least, I will never become his Champion. And I might not have to kill Miraak."

"Oh?" Neloth's bushy eyebrows crawled up his long forehead.

Marcus filled the Telvanni wizard in on what Kruzikrel and Relonikiv had revealed to him.

"Hmm…" Neloth mused when he finished. "This means that while your wife is still imprisoned in Apocrypha, she is not in Mora's control. That's a good thing. Whatever has been happening there has managed to nullify Mora's leverage over you. You will be able to concentrate on getting to her, without being concerned as much for her safety while you do so."

"That's another reason why I think I'll leave the mace here," Marcus said firmly. "If Tamsyn is safe enough for the moment, I expect Mora to show up in one of the Books and try to negotiate a deal with me. I want him to think I'll go along, fearing for my wife's safety."

"I get it," Azura nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "If Mora thinks he's got you over a barrel, he might go easier on us through these Books. We can finish them faster and get to the Summit more quickly."

"Where you will spring the surprise upon him," Neloth nodded. "Well, as strategies go, I've heard worse. I wish you both luck."

Marcus and Azura nodded their thanks before bending their heads together over _Filament and Filigree._

* * *

It was dark, immediately outside their landing space. Marcus looked around and could see nothing beyond the glow of the floating light overhead. Some distance away to the right, another floating light swayed back and forth, as if on autopilot, and he could see an altar table near a magicka font in the circle of yellow light before it moved on and the darkness swallowed the scene once more.

Dimly, ahead of them to the left, he could see one of the organic-looking streetlights, but there was no illumination beneath it. The darkness was so complete that even the lamp itself struggled to emit enough light to be seen at this distance.

Marcus had the sense that there were obstructions in this area, and when one of the floating lights swung past, he could just make out the twisted forms of stacks of books rising into the darkness like pillars of forgotten knowledge.

"Goodness!" Azura exclaimed. "I don't think I've been in barrows that were this dark!"

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Marcus nodded. The floating light over their heads swayed back and forth, side to side, but never went further than a few feet from their entry point. "I saw an altar table over that way," he said, pointing into the gloom. "Shall we go have a look?"

"I'm right behind you," Azura chirped.

They set off in the direction where the table lay, but yelped in pain and surprise before they had gone very far.

"Augh!" Azura cried. "Something's burning me!"

"Gah!" Marcus exclaimed. "Pull back! Back to the entrance!"

They scrambled back to the hovering light, and Marcus noticed with dismay the blisters and peeling skin on Azura. She was trembling with shock. He knew his armor had offered him some protection, but his arms where they were exposed, and the skin of his face felt raw and burned.

"Can you heal yourself?" he hissed in pain.

"I think so…" she winced, attempting to bring healing magic into her hands. Nothing happened. "No," she whimpered. "It hurts too much to concentrate."

"Here," he offered, gingerly pulling a healing potion from his backpack. It was one she had made the night before. If the smell was any indication, it was just as potent as the ones Tamsyn made.

"Thank you," she whispered, drinking it down. The effect was as dramatic as it was reassuring. Azura's blisters disappeared, and the ruddy color of her skin lightened to its normal autumnal hue. "Gods, that's so much better," she breathed. "But what about you? You were hurt, too."

"I'm about to take care of that," Marcus gritted, firing off a healing spell. He hadn't been burned as badly as Azura, so while it still hurt, he was able to focus on his magicka to heal his injuries.

"Now what do we do?" Azura frowned. "We're not going to get anywhere if we can't make it through the darkness."

"We could follow the lights," Marcus suggested. "See how they float back and forth?"

"That's not very efficient," Azura dismissed. "If we have to watch where the lights are, we could easily get surprised by a Seeker or Lurker in this murk!"

"I know," Marcus nodded. "Which is why I'm thinking we should take an old adage I remembered to heart."

"You seem to know so many I haven't heard before," Azura said drily, lifting an eyebrow. "Which one is this?"

Marcus smirked. "'It is better to light a single candle, than to curse the darkness,'" he recited.

Azura pulled a face. "Is that a real quote, or did you just make that up?"

"It's a real quote," Marcus grinned. "Generally, it means that it's better to do what good you _can_ do, no matter how little, than to sit around moaning about everything that's wrong. But I think in this case we'll need a more literal application." He fired off a Candlelight spell, which hovered over his head. Drawing Dragonbane, he kept the Candlelight spell at the ready, in case it should extinguish before they were clear of the darkness.

"I should have thought of that," Azura mumbled, ashamed. She fired off her own Candlelight, and together the two made their way around the area, carefully and quickly searching for the way ahead. Azura packed away the soul gems she found on the altar table, and gave a murmur of appreciation when she realized the Conjuration book lying there would give her the ability to summon a Seeker of her own.

"Now _this_ might come in handy!" she grinned, opening it and allowing the magic to be released. The knowledge sank into and became part of her as the book vanished with a _poof._ She longed to bring one into being just to test the spell, but didn't think Marcus would appreciate it without warning. He was already moving towards the catwalk exit from this area, and she hurried to catch up to him.

"Find anything good?" he asked.

"I sure did," she grinned, and told him of the spell.

"I see," was his only comment. "Just let me know which one is yours, if you cast it, okay?"

The catwalk brought them to a flight of stone steps leading up, with a pod chest tucked almost behind them on the left-hand side. Inside were several pieces of jewelry, some gold, and a book.

" _Three Thieves,"_ Marcus read. "I don't think I've seen this book before." He flipped through the pages to make sure, and noted several tips on moving about unnoticed. "If you don't mind, Azura, I'll keep this. I'd like to study this further when I have a chance."

"Go ahead," Azura said magnanimously. "I've already got a good book out of this trip."

The stairs led them up to another area which seemed to be an enclosed causeway of filigree and stacked books. A floating street light hovered in the archway, and both companions took a moment to refresh their Candlelight spells.

The attacks came as they encountered the first two pools, on either side of the causeway. Tentacles lashed out, cracking sharply against dragonbone and stahlrim.

"Yeowtch!" Azura cried out, jumping back. "Damn those tentacles to Oblivion!" She blasted first one pool, then the other, with her frost spells.

"I don't think that's possible," Marcus said drily. "They're already here."

A deep thrumming reached his ears and he dropped to a crouch, sidling out of reach of the tentacles.

"Seekers!" he hissed, peering into the gloom around them. Summoning his vital essences, he sent out his Aura Whisper and found two of them fairly close by. Further away, a lone red blob moved slowly back and forth. He thought it might be a Lurker.

"Can you do a Detect Life spell?" he whispered to Azura.

"I'm a Master of Alteration," she shot back, "so, yes." She made several gestures with her hands before releasing her magicka.

"I see them," she confirmed. "Shall I send out my own?"

"Yeah," Marcus grinned. "Why should they have all the fun?"

Azura stifled a giggle as she called up the mystical energy and cast the spell. Nothing happened.

"Uh…did it work?" Marcus breathed.

"No, curse it!" Azura muttered.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't see where it has to go!" she hissed. "I forgot about that. I need line of sight!"

"Oh," he replied, crestfallen. "Okay," he sighed, "we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"You get their attention," Azura suggested. "And keep that light of yours going! I can target that point. Just don't kill my Seeker!" she added, scowling.

"Perish the thought," Marcus muttered. He fired off the Candlelight again and secured his grip on Dragonbane.

Roaring a wordless challenge, he charged past the two pools straight at the two Seekers just as his Aura Whisper faded.

Thrumming and chirping their guttural language, the Seekers closed on Marcus and attempted to flank him. Two Seekers quickly became four as they duplicated themselves. All sent out their percussive draining volleys, and Marcus paused to Shout before launching his attack.

" _GAAN LAH HAAS!"_ he thundered, and all four Seekers shuddered.

A fifth one suddenly appeared, next to him, but it sent its draining attack out towards the enemy Seekers, and Marcus knew this one was Azura's. Icy Spears flew past him and hit two of Mora's denizens, and they shuddered again.

Marcus closed with the nearest one and lashed out with Dragonbane, slicing in a diagonal cut that would have bisected a human from shoulder to hip. The Seeker reeled back but gestured with two of its four hands, pulsing out its lethal drain at point-blank range. Marcus staggered back and the Seeker pressed its advantage by receding into the darkness to attack from the safety of the gloom.

"No, you don't!" Azura called out from behind him. A bright, glowing ball of light sailed from her hand and stuck to the arch supporting this section, bathing the entire area of the corridor in a twenty-foot radius of pure white light.

Marcus blinked at the sudden brightness, but his eyes adjusted quickly and targeted the four Seekers attempting to pull back from the lighted area. The tightness in his throat had eased, and he Shouted again.

" _KRII LUN AUS!"_

Again, all four Seekers recoiled, and two of them winked out of existence.

 _Good,_ he thought with satisfaction, _I got rid of the photocopies!_

Azura's Seeker was still throwing off percussion attacks, while the Bosmer mage herself followed through once more with a flurry of Ice Spikes. Another Seeker winked out, collapsing into a pile of rags as Marcus closed with the last one. Desperately, it attacked with the only weapon it had – its draining attack – and Marcus gritted his teeth even as he felt his muscle protest under the strain of following through with Dragonbane. It wasn't enough, however, and Azura's Seeker winked out as the spell ran its course.

"Take this, then," the Dragonborn snarled, summoning every vestige of magicka in him to send a wave of frost at the Seeker.

Four arms pulled in tight and tentacles twisted into tight curlicues as the shambling nightmare finally collapsed into a bundle of rags.

Azura came up to him. "So, what do you think of my new spell?" she grinned.

Marcus let out a tired chuckle. The draining attacks had taken their toll. "I think fighting fire with fire isn't a bad idea," he smiled. He rummaged in his pack for potions. "How long will that last?" he asked her, gesturing to the Magelight overhead.

"About the same length of time as the Candlelight," she told him. "The only difference is that Magelight sticks where you put it. Candlelight can follow you."

"It came in handy," he nodded. "I never thought much about using it before, but that might change."

"Once you start finding other applications for magic, it's hard _not_ to use it in your everyday life," Azura offered as he drank down potions to restore his stamina, health and magicka. "What, all three?" she goggled.

"Hey, those buggers were _tough_ ," he protested. "I think they were worse than the last round of Seekers we fought. But I can feel my eyeballs filling," he joked. "I need to find one potion that can do the work of three."

"We should have spoken to Elynea, then," Azura frowned. "She's got something she calls 'Potions of Well-Being' that do just that. They're expensive, and I don't know what recipe she uses to make them, either, which is why I tend to make my own. Unfortunately, mine only restore one thing at a time."

"I think I might like to talk with her when we're done here," Marcus mused. "Not that I don't appreciate your hard work, Azura," he said swiftly. "But if we're up against bigger and beefier Seekers and Lurkers, Elynea's potions might not be a bad thing to have on hand."

"I know," Azura nodded. "I'm not offended. And you're right: they _are_ getting tougher." She looked up to see the Magelight flicker and hastily cast another. "We should keep moving, if you're ready to go," she reminded him.

Marcus gave a nod and got to his feet. They left the Magelight behind and cast their Candlelight spells once more as they moved back into the darkness. Marcus sent out his Aura Whisper to locate the other blob he'd seen earlier. There were two of them now, where only one had been before. What did that mean? Was Hermaeus Mora cheating again?

They were closer now and moved carefully, past more of the ichor pools that whipped tentacles out at them as they passed. This time, Azura didn't bother to freeze them over, saving her magicka for the fight ahead.

They saw the first Lurker in the glow of a floating street light, at the foot of a flight of stone step that led up to another platform area.

Azura sent out a beam of paralysis just as it noticed them, and the creature went rigid, toppling over to the ground. Marcus was on it in a heartbeat, slicing and cutting with Dragonbane in one hand and a conjured Bound Sword in the other. The two-weapon style was the one with which he was most comfortable and felt he could do the most amount of damage. At this moment, that mattered.

Azura closed in with Sting, while keeping another Paralysis at the ready. The Lurker roared to its feet, pushing Marcus back so hard he staggered to keep his feet under him. Azura shot it with her Paralysis spell, but this time the Lurker shook it off and vomited out its acid tentacles, which she only barely managed to avoid by diving to one side. She found herself halfway up the stairs to the platform above, and heard an unsettling roar behind her.

"Oh, crud!" she exclaimed. "Marcus, we're going to have company!"

 _Fuck,_ he thought. _One at a time is bad enough!_

He redoubled his efforts to take out the Lurker in front of him, dodging its stomping attacks and tumbling out of the way of the acid vomit.

The creature took a swipe at him with one ham fist, and he ducked under it to slice with the Bound Sword, opening up its side. Ichor spilled out and the behemoth shrieked as it whirled around to spew forth its venom once more. Marcus tumbled away but couldn't avoid some of the backsplash. An acrid, burning smell filled the air as parts of the dragonplate armor sizzled.

"Damn you!" Marcus growled. "Do you know how hard it is to repair this armor?"

He jumped back from a stomping attack that was his answer to his question, but took advantage of his position to tumble past the creature's extended leg hamstringing it as he passed.

Roaring its agony, the Lurker went down to its knees. It was a matter of a few heartbeats to finish it off.

Another roar, however, reverberated around the landing as the second Lurker came down the stairs. Marcus braced himself for the inevitable vomit attack – he was in too tight a place to move out of the way.

To his surprise, the Lurker slipped, fell on its backside and slid down the stairs. It continued to slide as it reached the landing and as Marcus watched in amazement, the creature roared it helplessness as its momentum, and a very icy floor, carried it out over the edge of the platform, where it disappeared into the darkness. From far below they heard a gurgling splash.

Marcus looked in wonder at Azura.

"How…?"

Azura giggled. "My frost spells don't work well _on_ the Lurkers," she explained, "but they work very well _under_ them!"

Marcus threw back his head and laughed.

"I love it when the laws of physics work for us!" he chortled.

At the top of the stairs a floating light revealed the end of the Book. They took the valuables from the pod chest and the altar table before turning their attention to the three glowing green orbs that rose from the Apocryphal pages.

"Secret of Might," Marcus mused, "Secret of Arcana, and Secret of Protection."

"It seems the first makes your strongest attacks much easier to do for a short time," Azura interpreted. "The second one would allow you to cast spells without using magicka for a short time."

"And the last one reduces the amount of damage you take," Marcus said thoughtfully.

"Well, I know which one _I'm_ taking," Azura declared, touching the second orb.

Marcus considered the 'gifts' before him. He had to admit, that the first one was tempting. Not getting winded as quickly during a fight? Yes, that was appealing. But so was the idea of getting hurt less. And casting spells without draining his magicka? That would be good to have, also. How could he choose?

Azura said nothing, but he knew he was delaying their return to Nirn the longer he deliberated. Finally, he reached out and touched the third orb, feeling as he did so that maybe he'd made a mistake. Perhaps he should have taken the Secret of Strength instead. Oh well, it was too late now. Wordlessly, he and Azura took the covers in hand simultaneously and leaned into the Book together.

* * *

"Another 'quick read'?" Neloth drawled.

"Yeah, something like that," Marcus snorted. "The place was in near-total darkness that burned like fire."

"Indeed?" the Telvanni wizard mused. "Interesting…"

"And the Seekers and Lurkers are getting tougher," Azura commented, emptying out her backpack of the loot they'd picked up.

"I assume you'll be going back in, then?" Neloth inquired.

"We have to," Azura said firmly. "We've only got two more Books to go before we can confront Miraak and find Marcus' wife.

"But not before I talk to Elynea," Marcus reminded her.

"My mycologist?" Neloth queried. "Why do you need to talk with her?"

"I think she might have something I can use," Marcus replied cryptically. He saluted them before leaping off the edge of the platform to float to the ground floor.

Elynea was only too happy to sell him her Well-Being potions. "It's not like I get a lot of call for them here," she snorted. "Neloth can heal himself all day long, if he wanted to, and his enchantments restore everything else almost as fast as he uses it."

"I'll take them all," Marcus smiled, handing over the coin. "They'll be put to good use, I promise."

"I'm not worried about that," Elynea said dourly. "You wouldn't be buying them if you didn't need them." She packed the bottles carefully into his backpack for him. "There's a dozen in there," she told him, "as strong as I can possibly make them. They should put you back in action in no time!"

"Thanks, Elynea," he grinned. "I'll share them with Azura. If you need anything, let me know. I'll be only too happy to help."

"Hmph!" Elynea snorted. "You'd be the first." But she was smiling as she said it.

Back in Tel Mithryn Tower, Marcus shared half of the Well-Being potions with Azura as the two carefully repacked their haversacks.

"Thanks!" she smiled, surprised. "You didn't need to do that, you know. You might need them more than me."

"I'd rather not take that chance," Marcus said seriously. "I do have a favor to ask…"

"Anything," Azura nodded vigorously. "What did you need?"

"Well, I think Dragonbane, here, could use a little refill," he said. "I noticed the last few strikes weren't as effective, and…well…you know how I feel about soul gems…"

"Say no more," Azura assured him. "Give it to me. I'll take it over to the enchanter over there and charge it right up."

Marcus followed her and watched as she applied each soul gem to the Akaviri blade. She only used gems that held what was known as "common" souls or lower – souls that came from beasts and vermin. Greater and Grand soul gems, Marcus knew, contained the souls of humans and mer, and since his travels in the Soul Cairn, he was reluctant to use any gem at all. He knew how it was done, of course, and had recharged his weapons on his own before that trip. But he balked at using the larger soul gems, knowing how they became filled.

 _No one really deserves that fate,_ he thought to himself, _to have one's soul ripped from one's body to be used to charge an item. And on top of that, to have one's soul relegated to the Soul Cairn for all eternity after use._

He was grateful to have learned, from speaking with Florentius Baenius at Fort Dawnguard, that Arkay was still receiving "good souls" – people who had done no wrong, but had been soul-trapped and killed – from the Ideal Masters in the Soul Cairn. It seemed they had taken his threat of destroying their gigantic soul gems seriously, and had no desire to risk the return of the Dragonborn if they reneged on their deal.

"Arkay can't believe you actually got them to agree to this!" Florentius bubbled. "I can't believe it, either. I knew you were powerful, Marcus, but I – what's that, Arkay?" He paused, listening. "Alright," he sighed, humbly. "Arkay says he had faith in you all along, Dragonborn, and he reminded me that I was the one who doubted. Yes?" he continued, though Marcus could tell from his posture that the question had not been directed at him. "Yes, I'll tell him," Florentius said finally. "He said I should apologize for doubting you, Marcus," the priest said, looking Marcus directly in the eyes. "And I do. I wondered from the first time I met you in Ruunvald whether you had what it took to be Dragonborn, and –" he paused to listen once more. "And all that posturing that Arkay was unconvinced was just that – posturing. We are both very proud of you, Dragonborn!"

Marcus smiled at the memory. He truly liked Florentius, and was in some way pleased to know he wasn't the only one who heard voices in his head.

Now he watched as Azura used up no less than three common soul gems to recharge Dragonbane. The gems glowed when in proximity of the item to be charged, and after a brief incantation from Azura, the gem gave a flash as a mist of lavender-white escaped the gem and was forced into the sword. The stone cracked and became nothing more than fragments, which she swept into a basket nearby set there for that purpose.

"I should probably do my blades, too," she mused. "Why don't you bring me Scourge, as well?" she suggested. "As long as I'm doing this, I might as well make sure everything is fully charged."

Marcus nodded and went to retrieve the ebony mace from his chest. When he returned, she had finished with Grave and was working on Sting. As soon as the Daedric blade was done she held her hand out for Scourge.

When she held the next gem close, however, she frowned. "Why isn't it working?" she muttered. "I know you've been using it!"

Neloth passed by at that moment and poked his head into the alcove where they were working.

"I think you'll find that Daedric artifacts rarely, if ever, need recharging," he announced.

"Really?" Azura queried. "Well, my experience with Daedric weapons is limited at best. I didn't know that."

Marcus gave a self-deprecating snort. "Ugh! _Now_ I remember," he said, rolling his eyes. "Mehrunes' Razor never needed recharging, either."

Neloth whipped his head around so fast Marcus thought he might get whiplash.

"Did you say 'Mehrunes' Razor'?" he demanded.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded. "Why?"

"Do you have it still?" the Telvanni wizard pressed, a dangerous look on his face.

"No," Marcus protested. "I never had it to begin with. It belongs to a friend of mine. And I'll ask again, why is it so important?"

Neloth's face grew darker, if that was possible. "Because Mehrunes' Razor belonged to me!" he growled, severely. "It was stolen from me by a group of acrobats!"

"Well, I hope you're not going to demand its return," Marcus drawled laconically. "Because I don't want to be the one to tell its current owner to give it back. I doubt very much that would happen, anyway. He likes it."

"Young man, you listen to me—"

"No, Neloth," Marcus interposed, gently but firmly. "I think _you_ need to listen to _me_." He paused, waiting for the Dunmer wizard to calm down enough to pay attention. "First of all, you lost the Razor through no fault of its current owner. Now, I don't know where it's been since you lost it, but I helped a friend to find it in repayment of a debt. He helped my wife escape from the Thalmor down in Cyrodiil, and I believe firmly in paying my debts. Secondly, it's a Daedric artifact, as much as Scourge, here, is. I get the feeling, from my experience with Daedra, that they don't like their artifacts being out of circulation for too long. I had Mephala's Ebony Blade for a short time. I was keeping it away from a very close friend of mine, and She didn't like it. She managed to slip it away from me. So, my guess is that Mehrunes Dagon did the same for the Razor. He deliberately made it slip away from you. Now, it's in the hands of someone who will use it – maybe not for the purpose Dagon intended, but it will get used, instead of sitting in a display case, collecting dust."

Marcus paused and took a breath. "The bottom line here is that, while it _once_ belonged to you, it doesn't any longer. So, getting all riled up about it isn't going to accomplish anything."

He finished and waited for Neloth's reaction. The Telvanni wizard could very well get angry enough to banish him from Tel Mithryn, and that would be unfortunate. He liked to stay on good terms with his allies, and Neloth, for all his brashness and censure, had still been extremely helpful in getting Marcus as far along in this quest as he had.

Neloth studied him in silence for a long moment before responding. "You're right, Dragonborn," he said, shrugging. "And I must say I'm surprised at such insight for such a young man."

Marcus smiled cryptically. "I'm older than I look," was all he said.

Neloth sequestered himself in his reading room after accepting Marcus' reasoning, and the Dragonborn and Azura finished their preparations to enter _The Sallow Regent._

"I wonder what this Book will bring?" Azura said, as they prepared to open the Book together.

"Who knows?" Marcus shrugged. "As long as it's not more of that burning darkness…"

* * *

"I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut," Marcus muttered irritably.

Azura shrugged. "Well, it's not like we don't know how to handle this," she replied, firing off a Candlelight spell.

They had found themselves in an open-air alcove tucked between stacks of twisted books that rose above a flagged stone floor choked with old parchment pages, now illegible from age. Far below gurgled the inevitable waters of Oblivion, and to their right, just ahead lay another of those ichor pools that also seemed prevalent throughout this realm. As they watched, a sphincter rose part way from the murk, opened an eye and glared at them before subsiding.

"Probably gauging the distance to hit us with a tentacle," Azura snapped peevishly. She gave the pool a wide berth to the left and found a pod chest that they almost missed in the darkness. Ahead of them, through a book-and-stone arch, stretched a corridor into the gloom which the overhead light did not penetrate.

With two Candlelight spells going, it was much easier to navigate the path that led through a series of arches leading to another area with floating lights and another pool. Azura didn't even wait this time. She blasted the pool with a wave of frost, freezing it over. Marcus found another pod chest in a niche to the left, otherwise, there was nothing here. They refreshed their Candlelight spells before resuming their trek.

The darkness seemed more pervasive, the further along they walked. It crowded in on the area illuminated by their meager spells, and Marcus shuddered involuntarily at the inescapable sense of claustrophobia it induced. The corridor took a bend to the right and they found themselves ascending a ramp, still in near-total darkness.

"I hate this place!" Azura whispered. Marcus didn't answer. He didn't need to. He sent his Aura Whisper ahead, and paused as two figures lit up ahead of them. The corridor seemed to widen ahead, but it was hard to tell for certain. All he could be sure of were the two floating lights that passed by the end of the tunnel.

"Two Seekers up ahead," he murmured, then hissed in pain as his Candlelight spell winked out. It took him a moment to concentrate and get the spell going again, but those few seconds felt like being dipped in acid. Azura followed his spell with one of her own, but in doing so they attracted the attention of the Seekers.

A dual-pulse of enervating drain hit them as they emerged from the tunnel. Marcus sent out a wave of Ice Storm, with Azura's close behind his. The two Seekers split into four, and two of them vanished into the darkness beyond the rim of light from the floating street lamp.

"Okay," Marcus growled in frustration. "That just makes this a little bit harder." He sent out his Aura Whisper once more, but only two figures showed up, and both were beyond the light.

"What?" he exclaimed, brow furrowed in irritation. "The duplicates don't show up!"

"Which ones are the duplicates?" Azura demanded, firing off several Icy Spears in quick succession.

"The ones we can see," he said.

"Ice Storm, then," Azura declared. "It has a wide area of effect. We're sure to catch them in it, even if we can't see them."

"Maybe," Marcus muttered doubtfully. His Aura Whisper allowed him to see images through stone walls. If there was a stack of books or a stone arch the creatures were hiding behind, the Ice Storm would have little effect on them.

Azura sent out another Ice Storm towards the two Seeker clones they could see, who were continuing to pummel them with the energy drain. Marcus sent his out as well, and the two winked out of existence. It left the two originals, however, and unless they lit up the area they would not be able to see much at a time.

"Let's stick a couple Magelights around here," Marcus suggested.

"Good idea," Azura agreed. She sent one up to the left, where it stuck to an overhanging stack of books. Marcus tried to send his out, but felt the immediate lack of magicka. The Seekers' draining spells had done their job.

"I'm out of juice!" he frowned.

"Grab a potion," Azura threw at him, just as the two Seekers returned.

"Nope," Marcus said. "We've got incoming!" He drew Dragonbane and the Nordic dagger he'd stuck in his boot and went after the closest Seeker. With each pulse of energy it sent towards him, he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker.

 _Two can play at that game,_ he thought. _"GAAN LAH HAAS!"_ he bellowed, and the Seeker reeled back before resuming its attacks. They weren't as strong as they had been, moments before. Marcus slashed with the Akaviri blade, and one of the Seeker's claw-like hands flew from its body. It let out a high-pitched shriek and recoiled further into the darkness. Marcus attempted to follow, but felt that blistering sting again, and was forced to retreat himself back to the light.

Azura had sent two more Icy Spears at the other Seeker, and while it was pounding her with wave after wave of energy drain, the Bosmer mage held her ground and slashed with Grave when the Seeker got too close. The psychic attacks were having their effect on her, however, as a sheen of perspiration glistened on her forehead, and her breath was coming in short gasps. There was little room to maneuver in this area, lined with books as it was, with only a floating light and her Magelight providing illumination. She fired off another Candlelight spell to allow her to move into the dimmer side of the chamber, which Marcus had been forced to abandon. Now the entire room was lit, and the second Seeker had returned, minus a hand.

Azura threw up a Ward with one hand while the other fumbled at her belt pouch for a potion to restore her waning magicka. She found it and worked the cork off before downing the entire bottle in one long draught. Immediately, she felt much better, and sent another wave of Ice Storm towards the three-handed Seeker, enjoying the way the tentacles writhed and curled in the cold.

Marcus saw the three-handed Seeker return, but now he was on the other side of the chamber, closer to the one Azura had been fighting. Their positions had been reversed. He tried summoning up enough magicka to cast an Ice Spike, and managed to get one off before feeling tapped out again. The incessant pounding of the Seekers' energy drains was really taking its toll.

"Alright," he growled, "I've had enough of this! _FO KRAH DIIN!"_

The fully-voiced Frost Breath _thu'um_ hit the Seeker with all the force of a Winterhold blizzard, and the creature collapsed, leaving its shrouds behind. He turned to Azura to help her, and managed to get a few hits in with the Akaviri blade on the crippled Seeker as Azura switched to Grave and harried the creature from the other side. With one final slice from the stahlrim sword, the Seeker expired, and both Marcus and Azura slumped to the floor, breathing hard.

"They _are_ getting tougher," Azura gasped. "Or else we're getting weaker."

"I'm betting Mora's got a hand – or a tentacle – in this," Marcus grumbled. "We must have taken his other denizens out too easily. He's getting back at us for it."

"I think we should break out those Well-Being potions," his companion nodded. "I'm exhausted!"

"Agreed," Marcus concurred. They dug into their packs and pulled out the precious bottles, and sat resting while they drank.

"You know," Marcus said, a thought occurring to him, "I don't think I ever asked you this, but how did you end up with the name of a Daedric Prince?"

Azura chuckled. "You can blame my mother's poor memory," she smiled. "We Bosmer don't really deal with the Daedra much. We have a whole pantheon of other deities we revere besides the Nine, but my mother heard the name 'Azura' from somewhere, and thought it was pretty. She couldn't remember that it belonged to the Prince of Dusk and Dawn. We lived in a secluded area of Valenwood back then, before moving up to Cyrodiil when I was still in my twenties, and it just never came up. When we settled near Cheydinhall, people would give us odd looks every time I was introduced. Finally, someone pointed out to Mother where my name came from. She was mortified, but it was far too late to change it."

She paused and shrugged. "I've gotten used to the odd looks and sometimes outright hostility I've received over the decades, but I've always felt that the problem lay with other people. I am who I am. I'm not a Daedric Prince, I don't follow the Daedra – in spite of what some of the Vigilants of Stendarr might think – and I've always tried to be as good and helpful as I can be. Once people get to know me, they don't even think about it anymore."

"I never thought you were evil," Marcus assured her. "I was just curious. If I have any failings – and I'm sure there's a lot of them – one of them is definitely an over-active curiosity streak."

"And is that curiosity satisfied?" his companion asked indulgently.

"For now," Marcus grinned. "Give me some time. I'm sure there will be something else I'll have to find out. I can never resist a mystery."

"So that means you're ready to find out what happens at the end of this Book?" Azura chuckled.

"I suppose so," Marcus drawled, getting to his feet. He pulled her up with him and they readjusted their packs. "That's as good a hint as any to say, 'Get up off your butt and get going, Dragonborn!'"

"Subtlety is my specialty," Azura smirked, firing off her Candlelight spell. Marcus followed suit and together they set off on the path once more.

From here the corridor led upwards slightly before leveling off and widening in another small chamber. Exploration revealed small stone tables to their right with piles of ruined books scattered on top. One book, however, was not damaged, and proved to be a spell book for _Flames,_ which both already knew.

"The one I'd like to find, we haven't seen yet," Marcus commented.

"Which one is that?" Azura asked.

"That _Oghma_ book that Tamsyn had," he replied.

Azura shook her head. "I don't think we're going to find that here, Marcus," she told him. "Hermaeus Mora isn't going to give us an easy way to get the Arch-Mage out of here."

"And that has me worried," he admitted. "How am I going to get her back to her body at Winterhold?"

"We'll find a way," Azura promised. "If what the dragons said about Miraak is true, that he's helping her, perhaps he knows of a way."

"Maybe," Marcus brooded. It made him uneasy. He still didn't trust Miraak. That the First Dragonborn wanted to return to Nirn was undeniable. That he had turned against Hermaeus Mora seemed likely, given the fact that Mora wanted Marcus to become his new Champion. That Miraak was helping Tamsyn out of a sense of altruism, Marcus found highly doubtful. He was certain the ancient Atmoran was only playing along until he got what he wanted, and then…

And then, _what?_ Would he turn on them? Maybe. And was he, Marcus, strong enough to stop the First Dragonborn? He wasn't sure. He didn't think he was strong enough to defeat Alduin, but he had, albeit with a lot of help. He didn't think he was strong enough to defeat Harkon Volkihar, but he had – again, with a lot of help. Now it appeared he might have to fight Miraak after all, if the First Dragonborn refused to give up his scheme for world domination. For now, he would have to be patient and wait. There was still too much he didn't know.

They were in another corridor now, with a floating light that drifted ahead of them up towards the end of the tunnel. From the mouth, they could see little beyond the dim lights of the floating street lamps, or the pod-like tendrils of the stationary lights. This area appeared to be an open area of catwalks connecting platforms that wrapped around twisted stacks of books. The platform they were on contained an altar table to the left, with a floating light hovering above it. To their right, a flight of stone steps led up, but disappeared into the darkness.

Marcus sent out his Aura Whisper as a cautionary measure, and was rewarded by two large figures that he recognized by now as Lurkers. One was relatively close, if they took the stairs up. The other was further away.

"Lurker at our three o'clock," he murmured to Azura.

"At our what?" she hissed, and Marcus was suddenly reminded that time was measured here by marked candles and hourglasses. There was no such thing as a clock.

"Imagine a big circle around you," he explained in a low voice. "A day is twenty-four hours long, so half a day is twelve hours, okay?"

She nodded. "Twelve o'clock, or the twelfth hour, is straight ahead. At your right hand is three o'clock, or the third hour. The ninth hour is at your left hand, the sixth hour is behind you."

"I get it!" Azura smiled. "The other hours fit in between. So the Lurker is somewhere up there." She gestured into the gloom to their right, above them.

Marcus bobbed his head in agreement. "I'd love to _fus_ him right off the catwalk," he grinned ferally, "but the last time I tried my Unrelenting Force on a Lurker, it had no effect."

"We need to get some light up there so we can see what we're doing," Azura worried. "The last thing I want to do is fall off the edge myself because I couldn't see it."

Marcus nodded. "They don't stay if we cast another one, do they?" he asked.

"No," Azura confirmed. "If you cast another, the first one goes out. But fortunately, there are two of us, and this time your magicka is fully charged."

"That gives us two then, besides our Candlelight spells," Marcus murmured. "It's going to have to be enough."

"Let me hit it with Paralysis first," Azura suggested. "We'll find out fairly quickly if it doesn't work this time."

"Go ahead," Marcus agreed. "Be careful."

Azura took the lead this time, firing off her Candlelight spell and creeping up the stairs to the next landing, which immediately turned to the right with a filigreed catwalk leading up to the next platform. At the top of the rise, a Lurker disappeared around the corner of a stack of books, and a floating light drifted away from the platform.

"Drat!" she exclaimed softly. Her Candlelight wavered in the gloom, casting irregular shadows at her feet. She waited, with Marcus behind her on the narrow catwalk, waiting for the Lurker to make a reappearance. On silent feet she moved carefully forward, and Marcus, behind her, had to admit he had rarely seen anyone move as quietly as a Bosmer when they didn't wish to be noticed.

 _Thieves don't count,_ he grinned to himself, thinking of the few in his acquaintance. _They have to train themselves to be quiet. A Bosmer just does it naturally._

The Lurker loomed around the corner of the bookstack once more, and Azura threw her Paralysis spell at it. The creature went rigid for one long moment, before toppling over, off the platform, into the Stygian depths below.

" _Dammit!"_ Marcus whispered harshly, mindful of the other Lurker somewhere up ahead. "Those things usually have good loot on them!"

"Sorry," Azura shrugged. "It couldn't be helped. I'd far rather it took a plunge than that we would have to fight it."

"I suppose you're right," Marcus lamented. "Anyway, that's one. We still have the other to take care of."

"What's that expression you sometimes use when you have to repeat the same thing over again?" Azura inquired.

"'Lather, rinse, repeat,'" he grinned. Azura muffled a giggle.

Around the corner of the bookstack, Marcus suddenly hauled Azura back as the catwalk vanished below their feet. With a rumbling they felt under their boots, a bridge rolled upwards, just as their light spells winked out.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Azura whimpered, hastily casting it anew. Marcus cursed under his breath, but not loud enough for the Bosmer mage to notice, even with her advanced auditory capabilities. He fired off his own Candlelight.

"We can't get out of this crap too soon to please me," he muttered.

As they crossed the bridge and rounded another stack of books, something lay in their way on the catwalk. Closer inspection revealed it to be the Lurker Azura had Paralyzed. It was dead.

Azura was flustered. "But _how?"_ she demanded. "We _both_ saw it fall! It would have gone into the waters of Oblivion below us and died."

"Well, clearly, it's not moving," Marcus pointed out. "I don't know how it got up here though. Mora must have a sick sense of humor."

"Another one of the mysteries of Apocrypha," Azura snorted.

"And I'm perfectly fine with leaving it that way," the Dragonborn intoned.

They heard a roaring from somewhere ahead of them to the left, and immediately crouched. Marcus swiftly liberated the dead Lurker from its valuables and pushed it off the catwalk so they could get by. He pinpointed the living one with his Aura Whisper and together he and Azura sent out twin Magelights to the stacks of books they could just see ahead of them.

The lights didn't reach the books, but hovered in the air just short of them, illuminating the area below. The next platform seemed to have a large, central pillar of stacked books, preventing them from seeing anything beyond it, though patterns of light and shadow indicated there were floating lights in that area. The Lurker moved out from behind the bookstack and seemed to notice them in the gloom. Their own Magelights had given them away.

"We need get to that platform right now, or it's going to be impossible to fight him!" Marcus called out. He rushed up the catwalk and dodged the anticipated spew of acid vomit, drawing Dragonbane on the way and calling up a Firebolt in his off hand. The Akaviri steel sliced the Lurker's arm, as it swung out at the Dragonborn, but Marcus ducked under it and found himself on the high side of the ramp, with the Lurker between Azura and him.

The Bosmer mage let fly with her Paralyze spell, but the Lurker shrugged it off and spit its poisonous venom towards her. Azura barely got her Ward spell up in time, and even then, some of the vitriol splashed back on her. She howled in pain.

Not waiting to see what it did next, Marcus slashed at the Lurker's legs, attempting to hamstring it, but the creature's hide was made of sterner stuff, in spite of the fact that it was unarmored. The cut was superficial at best, and Marcus backed up to the platform as the behemoth swung around and took another swipe at him.

"That's right, Godzilla," he encouraged. "Come and get me!" He hoped to give Azura time to either heal herself, or get into a better position from which to attack – or both. For now, he had to get the beast off the ramp and onto the platform. "Over here, Bigfoot!" he called, ducking partially behind the central column of books. Predictably, the Lurker followed, leaving the ramp and allowing Azura access to level ground.

She scooted around to her right as she fired off a healing spell, while Marcus maneuvered to the left. The Lurker, still determined to attack Marcus, followed him behind the bookstack. It paused to inhale, and Marcus threw up his own Ward, anticipating the projectile vomit forthcoming. As soon as the tentacles cleared enough for him to see without getting burned, Marcus leaped in again to slice at the Lurker's midsection, while firing off an Icy Spear from his off hand.

The Akaviri blade fared better this time, and a deep gash appeared on the creature's abdomen as it roared its displeasure. The bolt of ice, however, seemed to have little effect.

From behind, Azura launched another Paralysis spell, but again, the monstrosity ignored it. It didn't ignore the sword the Bosmer mage had named Sting, however. The direct channeling of electrical energy from the Daedric blade's enchantment into the Lurker's central nervous system made the creature stiffen momentarily. Azura took advantage of this reaction to shove the blade deeper into the beast's back, then step back and shoot a Lightning Bolt directly at the pommel of the sword.

A choked howl came from the horror as it went rigid, its eyes rolling back into its head for a brief moment. Then it shuddered, and seemed to regain control of itself.

Marcus, however, was not one to let an opportunity like this slip away. As the monster shook, he targeted what would be typical weak spots on any other creature – the area under the rib cage, clearly defined here, and the base of the throat.

Now it was bleeding its black ichor in several places, and as the paralysis of the shock attack faded, it slumped to its knees. Azura shot it with a Firebolt at the same time as Marcus swung the Akaviri blade one final time. The Lurker collapsed, and lay still.

"If I haven't said this before," Azura commented, breathing hard, "I'll say it now. I _hate_ those things!" She reached out to yank Sting from the creature's still-twitching corpse.

"You won't get an argument from me," Marcus concurred. "Looks like we go up," he added, pointing to a set of stone steps at the far end of the platform. Through an arch at the top of the stairs was a small alcove, with the end of the Book resting on its pedestal. To the left and right were altar tables, containing ruined books, soul gems and two books Marcus didn't already have in his collection.

" _The Wolf Queen, Volume Six!"_ he exclaimed happily. "I've been looking all over for this one. It completes my set."

"Have you read the series?" Azura asked him, curious.

"No," he replied. "I know a bit about the story from Falk Firebeard in Solitude. I…uh…did a favor for him by preventing Potema from returning. I've held off reading the tale myself until I had all the books."

Azura gave him a long look. "You've led a very interesting life, Marcus Dragonborn," was all she said.

Marcus chuckled. "It comes with the territory," he grinned. "So, what is Mora offering us now?" He gestured to the three green orbs, pulsing above the Book.

Instinctively, they seemed able to interpret the "gifts."

"Seeker of Might," Azura announced, "Seeker of Sorcery and Seeker of Shadows."

"That seems fairly straightforward," Marcus nodded. "One makes you a better warrior, the next one a better mage, and the last one a better…uh…"

"Thief." Azura gave a sardonic smile. "Let's not sugar-coat it," she added. "That last one will make you a better thief."

"I know a few people who'd like that one," Marcus said drily, with a twist of his lips. "Fortunately, they're not here."

"But we are," Azura put in. "And again, I know which one I'm taking." She reached out to touch the Seeker of Sorcery.

"I don't have any doubts this time," Marcus said firmly. He put his hand up to the Seeker of Might.

"Only one more Book to read," Azura smiled. "Let's hope it's easier than these last two have been."

Marcus gave a fervent nod. "Amen to that!" They leaned into the Book together.

* * *

Colette Marence frowned. It wasn't enough. With all the students and scholars – and even some of the Masters – pouring their healing energies into the shadowy form of the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, she could still tell they were losing Tamsyn. She doubted the Breton mage's physical form could withstand a handful more of days separated from her mind and soul.

They had received almost daily inquiries from the Steward at Heljarchen, and both Enthir and Tolfdir had turned the questions over to her.

 _As if I had any idea how to reply!_ she sniffed to herself. _Cowards!_ They didn't know what to say, so they passed it along to her. Yes, she was the Restoration Master, but that didn't mean she knew everything. She had made one more attempt to speak with the Auger of Dunlain, but Tiernan would not answer her. There was no one as skilled at Divination – which was, until recently, almost a lost art – besides the Arch-Mage herself, so there was no one else she could interview, to find out if what they were doing would be enough.

Colette was beside herself. _We can't lose her!_ she fretted. _We_ need _her. She's the best thing to have happened to this stodgy old college since I can't remember when!_

She wished she knew what was happening in Apocrypha. Even knowing what was happening in Solstheim would have been some comfort. There had been no further word from the Dragonborn since he'd contacted Tolfdir over a week before.

She had spent every waking moment of the last few days – when she wasn't taking her turn at channeling her energy into Tamsyn – poring over old tomes in the Arcaneum. Musty, dusty volumes falling apart at the bindings, containing bits and scraps and hints of Restoration magic that had once been commonly known, but had long ago been lost to the ages. It was in just such a volume as these that she found the inspiration for channeling magicka and life energy into another person.

In all her sixty-two years, Colette had never tested the limits of her knowledge as she had done in the last two weeks. And it still didn't seem to be enough. There had to be more.

 _If Tiernan would just speak to me,_ she worried. _And what did he mean by 'We will not meet again'?_

It was typical of his quixotic nature to withdraw into whatever realm he existed when not in the Midden, to avoid being plagued by countless novices wanting a short cut to Master-level knowledge. But she had known him practically from the first day she had come to Winterhold, over forty years before. He had seen something in her, he had told her. Some reason and purpose for her presence here. It was why he had taken upon himself the task of tutoring her in Restoration magic when the other Masters felt that Adept level was 'good enough.' In all that time he had never told her why.

The epiphany slammed into her like a charging mammoth.

"I'm here because of her," she whispered, looking up from the ancient tome she was perusing. Her pale blue eyes welled with unshed tears. "I'm here _for_ her. _That's_ why Tiernan took me under his wing. He knew she would need me!"

"Did you say something, Colette?" Urag gro-Shub muttered, his arms full of books he was re-shelving.

"Only to myself, Urag," she answered hastily. "What do we have on the Auger of Dunlain?"

"The Auger?" The Orc Librarian's purple eyes widened in surprise. It took a lot to catch the old lore master off guard, but this one succeeded. "I thought you knew him better than anyone," Urag hedged, not meeting her eyes. He set the stack of books down on a nearby table and began fussily straightening a nearby shelf of scrolls. It was a completely unnecessary task, Colette knew. "And anyway, we don't have much. Kind of rude writing a book about someone without their permission, you know."

"There must be _something_ ," Colette insisted. Urag could be brusque, she knew, but she also knew evasion when she saw it.

"Well…" Urag's eyes darted around the Arcaneum, as if half-expecting the Auger to show up and interfere. "I _did_ keep all his research notes and papers after he…well, _you_ know…"

"That happened before my time, Urag," Colette snapped. "Why didn't you tell me before now? Especially with the Arch-Mage—"

"I know, I know, alright?" Completely subdued, the old Orc heaved a great sigh. "Look, I was under orders from Arch-Mage Aren never to open the case they're kept in. He threatened to come back from Aetherius if I so much as hinted they might still be around!"

"That all happened before Savos' time, too!" Colette stormed. "If there's _anything_ in those notes that can help Tamsyn – who is the _current_ Arch-Mage, I might add—"

"And that's the only reason I'm mentioning it now, Colette," Urag growled. "That girl has done more for this College in the few short years she's been here than Savos Aren did in his entire career. And I don't care if he comes back from Aetherius to yell at me for it! I owe her at least this much for all the rare books she retrieved for the Arcaneum, not to mention all those Shalidor's Insights she found." He turned and headed to a case behind his desk that was always kept locked. Stained glass in the doors served the dual purpose of protecting the contents inside from fading due to sunlight, which streamed in from the high windows of the Arcaneum, as well as hide them from prying eyes.

He pulled an old brass key from his pocket and unlocked the case, shuffling through the stacks of books, scrolls and papers inside until he found what he was looking for. It was a slim black volume, a journal of the type in which many people kept their most secret thoughts.

He hesitated only a moment before handing it over to Colette. "Don't tell anyone I gave this to you, understand?" he demanded. As she nodded, he leaned over her diminutive form intimidatingly. "If you do, I'll deny it. And I want it back, understand? It belongs in the Arcaneum."

"I understand, Urag," Colette breathed. "And thank you!"

"Hmph!" the old Orc grunted, going back to his stack of books. "Hope it helps."

* * *

For almost the millionth time, Tamsyn attempted to reach Marcus through her ear bud, but there was still no response from her husband. Either he was not in Apocrypha at the moment, or he was in some other part not connected to the Summit.

Miraak was patrolling the borders of his force field, pouring magicka into places he felt had been weakened by Mora's attacks. Though he didn't show it, Tamsyn could tell he was irritated – she would almost say, 'worried' – at Sahrotaar's absence. The dragon had been gone far too long. She didn't want to give voice to what she was thinking: Sahrotaar had probably gone to sulk somewhere. He had flown off before Miraak had announced his intentions to send the dragons back to Nirn.

That wasn't the only concern she had. Marcus _would_ come for her. Of that she had no doubt. What worried her was whether Sahrotaar would find the Dragonborn before Marcus made it to the Summit. Sahrotaar might well take it into his head to eliminate Marcus to curry favor with his Lord Miraak. In the game, riding the dragon was the only way to reach the top of Apocrypha. Here, in her new reality, it might be different. She had already discovered many things which did not exist and had never happened in the scripted game.

Tamsyn knew her husband well. Marcus had a tendency to "go off point," and do things his own way. Often, he achieved a similar result that she had earned following the rules of the game. But if he went his own way this time, it might be disastrous. They might never find their way back to Skyrim.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another attack from Hermaeus Mora. Huge black tentacles dropped from the sickly green skies overhead and pounded against the shield Miraak had so painstakingly restored.

"Here we go again!" she called out to her companion.

"I am ready, Arch-Mage," Miraak assured her. "Cover the far side of the Summit, over there," he pointed. "I will protect this side here."

"You're still going to need my help, Miraak," Tamsyn insisted. "You can't maintain the shield against Mora all by yourself."

A splintering sound, like ice cracking in warm sunlight, echoed across the Summit, and Tamsyn saw with horror that part of the shield twenty feet away had been compromised. Beads of sweat broke out on Miraak's brow as he concentrated on bringing it back. He took a step as if to move closer, but Tamsyn threw herself against him.

"No!" she cried, channeling her own waning magicka and covering the gap herself. "It's what he wants, Miraak! He wants you to get close enough so he can skewer you with one of those tentacles! I've seen him do it!"

Miraak didn't respond, but Mora did.

" _And just how…could you have…_ seen _…such a thing, Arch-Mage?"_ he challenged.

"I'm a Seer, remember, Mora?" she shot back. "I've Seen many things that might come to pass, and many more that never will." She kept spreading her shield as she spoke, lining the inside of Miraak's with her own. Her face was pale, and the lock of white hair at her temple was taking on an almost incandescent sheen. Miraak stared in wonder as more of Tamsyn's Aetherial nature presented itself. Mora could not fail to see what was happening.

"The Daedra have tried too many times to interfere in the affairs of men and mer," Tamsyn scoffed, "to affect the realm of Nirn. Your jealousy of a world you didn't create, but which you covet, will be your downfall, Mora. You and all your kin will be driven out. We will see to that. It might take a few generations, but that's a price I'm willing to pay."

" _You…do not have that kind…of power, Arch-Mage…"_ Mora snarled, the thudding of the tentacles growing stronger. Tamsyn felt every hit through her barrier. _"Neither do you…have the time. You are mortal…and so, doomed to die. When you are gone…there will be…no one to take up…the banner."_

Tamsyn felt her reserves hitting bottom, but she refused to give up.

"I won't let you kill Miraak, Mora!" she challenged. "I won't let you cheat this time!"

Dimly she was aware that Miraak had placed his hands on her shoulders. There was a brief pulse, a tentative push of energy from him, as if waiting for a response from her. It was the reverse of what she had done earlier, offering her magicka to him. Now, he was offering his to her, and she gratefully accepted the inrush of magicka from a centuries-old Dragonborn mage. She pushed her shield further out, allowing it to pass through Miraak's barrier, so that hers was now on the outside.

The shriek from Hermaeus Mora when his appendages struck her force field was intensely satisfying, and she heard a quiet chuckle from Miraak behind her. The tentacles that had struck her shield turned a dead, gray-white color, and withered as they watched.

" _Impossible!"_ Mora raged. _"What…have you done? What power…is this?"_

A cloud of scores of eyes bore down on the two figures standing beneath the barrier at the Summit of Apocrypha.

" _No mortal…on Nirn…has such power!"_ Mora growled, all eyes glaring daggers at the Breton mage.

"I do," Tamsyn said simply. With Miraak's power added to hers, she practically glowed.

The conglomerate of orbs narrowed, their double pupils melding and dividing in undulating globules, like blobs in a lava lamp.

" _You…are not merely…mortal…"_ he deduced. _"You…are partly of…Aetherius."_

Tamsyn didn't deny it. It would be pointless to do so at this juncture.

" _A daughter…of the Aedra…in my power,"_ Mora chuckled.

Tamsyn snorted. "Hardly in your power, Mora," she challenged. "I'm keeping you out of here."

" _And yet…"_ Mora drawled, as his tentacles – those that remained – retreated back into the sky, _"you are still unable…to return home. Unable…or…unwilling. Most…interesting…"_

With that, he vanished completely, leaving Tamsyn exhausted and fuming. Her glow faded as she felt Miraak withdraw his magicka, now no longer needed. She turned to her companion.

"Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag now," she quipped tiredly.

Miraak's brow furrowed. "Why would you wish to put a Khajiit into a bag?" he asked, curious.

Tamsyn chuckled wearily, but shook her head. "It's just an expression. It means 'the secret's out now.' Mora knows what I am now."

"It has been my experience that he is a collector of information," Miraak soothed. "It does not follow that he will do anything with his new-found knowledge."

"Just the fact that he knows is bad enough," Tamsyn frowned. "He can use that information as leverage with other Daedra, or even with Marcus, to get what he wants." She blew out a sigh. "Miraak, I know you want to wait for Sahrotaar, but honestly, I don't know how much longer we can afford to wait. I _need_ to get out of here."

Miraak frowned. Without the Arch-Mage's help, he would not be able to send Sahrotaar back to Nirn. He counted on her presence to ward off any attack from Hermaeus Mora while he was still vulnerable, though it seemed at the moment that Mora had gained some useful information from their confrontation, and would be unlikely to launch another assault soon. In addition, she was instrumental in providing the additional power he needed to send the dragons back.

It wasn't like opening a portal, which was what the Arch-Mage would need to do to get them both out of Apocrypha. What he had used was a Shout; a very ancient, very powerful Shout, used only by the strongest Dragonborn. He had long ago come across an old tome written by one of the first Dovahkiin, which taught him that sources of arcane energy from outside oneself could sometimes be channeled to enhance the _thu'um,_ if one knew how to harness such energy. Miraak knew he was one such. Initially, he had intended to use the All-Maker Stones as the external source of power, but the Dragonborn had sundered that plan when he managed to free all but the Tree Stone. His contingency plan was to use the Arch-Mage to get himself back, and to leave her in Aetherius, knowing she would not be able to return from there. He didn't know when even that plan had changed, but now he was reluctant to play her so falsely, after she had fought for his life against none less than a Daedric Prince.

He felt once more that stab of guilt over the piece of paper he had torn from the back of the White Book. He opened his mouth to speak, to let her know, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and his throat went suddenly dry. To break her trust in this manner, after their somewhat tempestuous start, was something he couldn't bring himself to do. Miraak had faced many things bravely, but on this one point he found himself craven.

 _You're a disgusting coward,_ he derided himself. Aloud, knowing the Arch-Mage was waiting for some kind of response, he merely said, "Let us wait just a bit longer. Mora has what he wants now. I feel certain there will be no further attacks."

"It's not just that, Miraak," Tamsyn said, wearily. "I'm feeling stretched very thin. I don't know how much more I can take." Her eyes widened in a fear she wouldn't admit, even to herself.

Miraak nodded. Yes. The Arch-Mage needed to return soon. Just…not the way they originally planned. There was another way. If only Sahrotaar would return!

"I beg you to be patient just a little longer, Arch-Mage," Miraak said, with none of his usual arrogance. "I feel certain Sahrotaar will return soon. He has disappeared at times before now, but he always comes back."

"Let's hope so," Tamsyn mumbled, yawning. "Forgive me, but I need to rest. Wake me when Sahrotaar returns. My barrier is outside of yours now. I'll have to drop it to let him through."

"Rest now," Miraak agreed. "I will wake you when the time comes."

Tamsyn stumbled over to the cot laid out for her. Part of her mind made a mental note to ask Miraak if he would teach her the fabrication spell he had used to create it. The rest of her brain spun at light speed over the last several days' events.

Miraak seemed to have lost some of superior attitude towards her. She wondered if that was because he had seen, first hand, how she had brought a Daedric Prince to an impasse. Hermaeus Mora now knew she wasn't entirely human. What he would do with that knowledge worried her more than anything. Sahrotaar had yet to return, and Marcus still hadn't made an appearance, and both of those issues were major concerns for her. The last thing on her mind before sleep claimed her was, _Will this be the last time I close my eyes?_

* * *

 _[Author's Note: It's not looking good for Tamsyn, is it? Will Marcus be able to reach her in time? Thanks for staying with me!]_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _Untold Legends,_ the Book was called, and ordinarily, it was the kind of title that would have made Marcus sit up and take notice. It implied mystery, which he could never resist. As a boy, back in Gaea, he had devoured the tales of Sherlock Holmes at an early age and had gone on to read every Agatha Christie novel ever written. From there he graduated to the novels of P.D. James, Dorothy Sayers, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. If it was a mystery novel, Marcus read it. He tested his powers of deduction to see if he could reason out the end of the book before he got to it. The best novels kept him guessing to the end.

 _This_ Book, however, was _not_ the kind of mystery novel in which he wished to immerse himself, yet here he was, with Azura staunchly beside him. It was simply more of the blackish-green nightmare bred from the fertile mind of Hermaeus Mora.

 _It's more of a horror story than a mystery,_ Marcus thought sourly. _Like something from H.P. Lovecraft._ From their point of entry into this realm, they found themselves in an alcove made of books and stone, with an archway ahead of them flanked by two magicka fonts. Straight ahead, down a slope, the corridor turned to the right and led them eventually out to an open platform at water level where Chapter Two rested on its pedestal.

Hermaeus Mora was waiting for them.

" _Dragonborn…"_ he crooned, as Marcus drew his sword automatically, and Azura called forth electricity into her hands. _"Stay your weapons…"_ he cautioned them. _"I wish merely…to speak to you."_

"What do you want, Mora?" Marcus scowled. He had a pretty good idea and was curious to know if he was right. He lowered the point of his sword but remained on guard. Azura didn't drop her hands.

" _You…have come far…"_ Mora said approvingly. _"Soon…you will be able to…confront Miraak…and replace him as my Champion."_

"I've told you before, Mora," Marcus insisted, "I will _never_ become your Champion!"

" _Hear me out…"_ the Daedric Prince rumbled. _"You wish…to reclaim your wife…"_ Here Mora chuckled. _"I will allow her…to return to Nirn…if in return, you kill…Miraak."_

Marcus did not respond immediately. Miraak's two dragons, Relonikiv and Kruzikrel had already told him their _thuri_ had had a change of heart, and that he and the Arch-Mage were working together to escape Apocrypha. It didn't mean Marcus wasn't going to try to free Tamsyn on his own. What he didn't know, _couldn't_ know, was how much of what had transpired Hermaeus Mora already knew. Anything that had ever been written – and a few things that were yet to be set down in print – ended up in Apocrypha. It was for this reason, mainly, that Marcus tried to keep things as spontaneous as possible. If he didn't know what he was going to do next, there was a good chance Mora wouldn't know, either.

He knew that Mora was intimately connected to everything in his realm. The Daedric Prince was aware of all that went on. What he couldn't know were things not yet revealed. As long as Marcus kept his thoughts to himself, he could keep the Prince guessing.

The myriad number of eyes blinked slowly at him, waiting for some reaction from him.

Marcus rubbed his chin, as if considering Mora's offer. "I definitely want my wife back," he mused slowly, "and I certainly don't want Miraak coming back and taking over Tamriel. I've got enough on my plate as it is. But I don't trust any deals made by the Daedra," he went on firmly. "You guys have screwed me over in the past. I have no reason to trust you'll do what you say."

" _My brethren…have treated you…harshly,"_ Mora conceded. _"But if you wish for your wife…to be returned to you…before it is too late…you'll consider my offer."_

That told Marcus what he needed to know. Even if Mora knew that Tamsyn and Miraak were working together, he didn't know that Marcus knew it, too. He was counting on using emotional blackmail to get the Dragonborn to agree to his plans. Marcus decided to play along.

"I want my wife back, Mora," he growled. "Unharmed and unmolested. But I refuse to be your Champion to do it. If Miraak gets in my way, I'll won't hesitate to deal with him, but I'm not replacing him." He deliberately didn't use the word 'kill,' and let Mora assume what he would.

" _We shall see…Dragonborn…"_ Mora said smugly. _"For now…know that I have made the offer…in good faith. To that end…I will allow you safe passage…through this part of my realm."_

The Daedric Prince faded from view, but Marcus had no doubt his presence was still everywhere in this domain.

"What do you think he meant by 'safe passage'?" Azura asked.

"Pretty much what it sounds like, I'm sure," Marcus replied. "He wants us to get to Miraak sooner, rather than later, so he's going to ease up on the obstacles."

This much turned out to be true. Without Seekers and Lurkers to hinder them, the two companions marched straight through the next two Chapters. In Chapter Four, they found themselves in a large chamber with a raised platform enclosed with filigree. Inside was a scrye that they could not reach. They had to spend several minutes working out the puzzle that would open the proper gates around the room to access the proper scryes to open the middle platform, and finally the gate at the far end of the chamber. Azura collected several filled soul gems and books as they went.

In the last Chapter, the corridor they were in quite literally swung first to the left, then to the right, to access other parts of the same area, before they could get to the platform at the end where the end of the Book lay on its pedestal.

"No minions to hinder us," Azura said sourly, "but these puzzles and double-blind passages are a pain in the backside!" Marcus didn't deny it.

He didn't think much of the 'rewards' at the end, not finding much use for Bardic Knowledge or a Dremora butler to carry his things around for him. He finally decided on the Daedric shopkeeper simply because he needed to choose _something_ to be able to leave the realm. He tried it before they left, just as an experiment, and both he and Azura sold off a few items they didn't want to cart back to Nirn with them. The Dremora reminded Marcus of one of the characters in a _MythAdventures_ book he'd read years ago, and he hid a private smile.

* * *

"Well, that didn't take very long," Neloth commented as they returned to Tel Mithryn.

"Mora let us off easy this time," Azura quipped, and at Neloth's raised eyebrows, Marcus filled him in on the conversation he'd had with the Daedric Prince.

"It would seem that Mora is getting desperate," Neloth mused. "Whatever this 'secret' is that your wife had, he either knows it now, or has decided it's not worth the trouble. That would be completely out of character for old Herma-Mora, so my guess is that he has already discovered whatever secret she happened to be harboring."

Marcus felt his gut twist. "That's not good," he worried. "It's not exactly something we want out there in the open." Behind him, Azura pulled a face of frustration, not knowing what 'it' was.

Neloth seemed unconcerned. "You're assuming it's a secret that you know, as well. It could be something she hasn't even revealed to you."

Marcus frowned. There wasn't much Tamsyn kept from him, except where it concerned the outcome of certain quests, such as killing Harkon or destroying Alduin. There were a few, however, such as exactly _how_ she had acquired the staff she called Sanguine's Rose, that she still never spoke about. Marcus was not a jealous person by nature, and he trusted Tamsyn, but knowing the nature of the Daedric Prince of Debauchery, he wasn't sure now that he really wanted to know. She had acquired it during that time after she left him at Dragonsreach, when they first came to Tamriel, and before they met up again to go through Labyrinthian. There was also the question of what, exactly, she had done for Septimus Signus for him to have given her a decanter of blood, which she in turn had given to Serana. Yes, Neloth was correct. Tamsyn kept a few secrets even from him. But in truth, most people kept things from others to protect them. He would trust that Tamsyn had done the same.

"I doubt very much that he will do anything with the knowledge," Neloth went on, blandly. "Mora's method of operation is to _acquire_ knowledge, not necessarily to _use_ it."

"That's not very reassuring," Marcus brooded.

"Still," Azura offered, "he was willing to allow us safe passage through his Book in order for us to get to Miraak faster."

Neloth nodded. "Miraak, it would appear, is the real reason for Mora's apparent generosity," he agreed. "The First Dragonborn is no longer of any use to him. And rather than have a hostile former Champion in his own realm, carving out bits and pieces of it for himself, he would rather neutralize him and clear the way for a new Champion, even if it isn't you, Dragonborn."

"I never actually agreed to kill Miraak," Marcus said firmly. "I only acknowledged that I didn't want Miraak trying to take over Nirn, if he succeeded in returning. After all the work Tamsyn has done in my absence to change his mind about that, I owe it to her to talk to the man first before I make any decision about what to do."

"Hmm," Neloth conceded. "You might not be allowed that opportunity, though," he cautioned. "Everything I have researched about the Daedric Princes – Meridia and Azura being the exceptions, of course – is that they are not above cheating when things don't go their way. You should proceed with extreme caution, Dragonborn."

"Always," Marcus agreed. "That's why I'm going to bring Scourge this time. I won't use it unless I have to. No sense in tipping my hand. Well, Azura?" He turned to face the Bosmer girl. "Ready to take on the last Book?"

"I'm ready when you are, Marcus," she assured him. "Let's go get your wife. I'm anxious to meet her."

* * *

In her private chambers, Colette Marence closed the journal she was reading and sighed. Rubbing her eyes, she reached for the tankard of water she kept at hand, only to find it was empty. She made an exasperated sound and rose to refill it from the pitcher on her nightstand, then took a long drink.

The journal of the entity known as the Auger of Dunlain had been thorough and detailed. She understood now why Savos Aren wanted it kept under lock and key. The knowledge contained inside was far too dangerous for even Expert-level scholars of Restoration to attempt.

 _But I must,_ she reflected sadly. She looked around the small room that had been the only home she had known since she became the Restoration Master at the College.

 _Master,_ she scoffed. That was such an undeserved title. She wasn't a _Master_ of Restoration. In point of fact, the Arch-Mage herself knew more about the subject than she did. But until Tamsyn's arrival, Colette had been the only person at the College of Winterhold in the last fifty years who had made a concerted effort to learn anything higher than Adept-level in the subject. It had been a source of continued frustration for her that Tiernan refused to teach her the most difficult invocations. But he hadn't refused to teach Tamsyn. Rather than be envious of the younger Breton's rising star, however, Colette had encouraged Tamsyn, and taught her everything she knew of her field of expertise. She had basked in the reflected glow of Tamsyn's success, proud of her protégé. She would have done anything for the girl.

 _Anything at all,_ she told herself now. Well, it wasn't as if she hadn't had a full life. While she had never married, she'd had affairs. She'd never had children, but that had been a conscious choice on her part to prevent such a thing from happening. Restoration, after all, had its perks. The few young scholars who had shown talent for that particular School of Magic had been all the children she'd ever needed, and of all of them, she was fondest of Tamsyn.

 _Be honest with yourself, at least, Colette,_ she scolded inwardly. _You love that girl as much as if she was your own daughter._ So it was with a lighter heart than she expected to have that she packed away a few personal items into a small strongbox and left a note in her nightstand drawer.

She stopped at the Arcaneum to return the journal to Urag. He was drowsing in his chair when she approached, and groggily took the volume from her to lock it away. He turned to say something to her, to ask her a question, but she had already made her exit out the door and was heading up the stairs to the Arch-Mage's quarters.

Faralda was there when she arrived, still channeling Restoration magic into the transparent form of the Arch-Mage.

"Oh, Colette!" the Altmer Destruction Master exclaimed, without pausing. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight. I thought your shift was earlier today?"

"I took a nap," Colette lied. "I feel much better now. Why don't I take over for you? You can get some rest."

Suspecting nothing, Faralda smiled. "That's very kind of you, Colette," she beamed. "You _are_ better at this than me, after all. If you need anything, or if you get tired again, send word to Enthir. I think he has a team of Adepts ready to come at a moment's notice."

"I'll let him know if I need anything," the Breton woman replied, forcing a smile she didn't feel inside. She took over channeling her healing energies into Tamsyn's catatonic form, still sitting in the chair she had been sitting in for the past two weeks. Colette waited for Faralda to disappear down the stairs. It would be an hour before anyone would come to check in; they had set up the shifts in that manner.

"This is my final gift to you, Tamsyn, dear," she whispered, as she cast the spell she'd found in the Auger's journal. Her last thought was, _I know now why he said we wouldn't meet again._

* * *

Tamsyn awoke with a start, and for a moment looked around wildly at her surroundings. She was still in Apocrypha, at the Summit, but for one brief instant she had seen herself back at her quarters at the College. Energy coursed through her, and she felt more refreshed than she had in several days.

What had happened?

Frowning, she sat up and concentrated. She had been dreaming, she thought, but it was all slipping away. She thought she was back at the College, and that someone was with her—

It was gone. Tamsyn sighed. Whatever she thought she had dreamed evaporated, the way dreams do upon waking. Shaking her head, she rose and prepared herself for whatever Hermaeus Mora might throw at them today.

* * *

Azura and Marcus found themselves in an open area, on a platform set a few feet above water level. An altar table lay a few yards behind them, against a wall of decayed stacks of books. The wall curved around, but did not enclose them, giving them a clear view across the water to a tower of carved stone rising beyond their vision into the greenish haze of Apocrypha.

"That must be the Summit!" Azura exclaimed. "How do we get there?"

There was no way across the water that they could find, however Marcus could hear a dragon roaring from somewhere off in the distance. He couldn't see it, but it told him that Miraak still had one ally left in this horrible place.

The curved wall of books revealed passageways on either side of the courtyard that only led them down to the lower platform at water level, where the next Chapter lay on its pedestal. Tentacles lashed out at them when they moved too close to the edge. Azura fumed but realized shooting them with a frost spell would be pointless. It wasn't an enclosed pool, here, but the open sea. Out across the water she could see several large appendages waving languidly in the murky air, both rising up from the depths as well as dropping down out of the jade green sky.

"It looks like Chapter Two is our only way through," Marcus commented. "Mora didn't promise to make this Book easy."

Azura nodded dourly as they leaned into the Chapter together.

* * *

They found themselves in an enclosed courtyard this time, at water level, with stonework and iron lattice towering overhead. Above them they could see more of the filigree in catwalks crisscrossing to connect one side of the vast chamber to the other without having to go around the perimeter. Flying books floated in lazy circles from one column of stacked books to another.

A flight of stone steps ahead of them led upwards. An altar table rested on the second platform up, and Marcus pocketed the book _The Guardian and the Traitor_ that lay there. If he was right, he thought, it probably had something to do with the story of Vahlok and Miraak that Storn had told them back at the Skaal village.

They reached the next floor up and found that the perimeter was made of alternating sections of stone and latticework. Marcus stepped gingerly over the filigreed sections. This entire adventure through Apocrypha had had one good side-effect: being up in high places wasn't bothering him quite as much as it used to, but he still didn't like it much, and didn't trust anything but solid terrafirma beneath his feet.

 _That, or a dragon,_ he thought with sardonic amusement.

They followed the catwalk around to the right, passing through dust-devils of parchment whirling and spinning endlessly in place.

"Marcus?" Azura asked, eyeing one of the central columns nervously. "Is that column…moving?"

Marcus followed her pointing finger and realized she was right. One of the columns of stacked books swayed in and out with a slow, measured rhythm.

"It's almost like it's…breathing!" Azura shuddered.

"This is Hermaeus Mora's realm," Marcus stated, with a flash of insight. "Everything around here exists because of him. The eyes we've seen watching us, the tentacles that whip at us, even the lights that follow us," he added, gesturing to two floating lights drifting out over the core of the chamber. "It stands to reason that these twisted book columns would act like some kind of spine, or lungs."

The Bosmer girl shuddered again. "I hate this place!" she whispered, not for the first time.

The Seeker was on them before they knew it was there. Percussive waves of energy-drain slammed into them, and Azura staggered. She might have slipped over the edge of the catwalk, but her wood-elf instincts caught a bit of filigree sticking up from the floor, and she hauled herself lightly back onto the walkway.

Marcus hesitated only long enough to be sure she hadn't fallen before using his Become Ethereal Shout to go insubstantial as he rushed the creature before it could clone itself. Using only the first Word, he felt it fading just as he reached the raised platform on which it stood and launched a steady stream of Frostbite into its face as he thrust and jabbed with Dragonbane. The shock enchantment on the Akaviri blade did little to the minion of Mora, as he knew, and the Frostbite wasn't enough to stop it, but it did keep the creature distracted until Azura could recover enough to lend a hand.

Icy Spears flew past his shoulders from his left side, and he knew she was back in the fight. The Seeker writhed from the cold, and Marcus took advantage of that to renew his attacks with vigor. Though he was getting pummeled with energy drain, he felt warmth from behind him, healing the damage he was taking. Azura truly did 'have his back.'

With one final great effort, Marcus swung Dragonbane as hard as he could, and the Seeker collapsed into a pile of rags.

Breathing hard, he nevertheless grinned at Azura. "At least there weren't two of them! Thanks for the back-up, Azura."

"Anytime," she smiled. "I would have gotten in there to help you, but this catwalk is a bit narrow."

"My heart dropped when I saw you teeter on the edge," he admitted.

"Thank goodness for Bosmer reflexes!" Azura chuckled. "Shall we push on?"

They weren't able to go much further. A wall of sheer stone, ten feet high, thwarted them.

"These are steps," Marcus observed. "We've seen these before. We just need to find the device that opens them."

"Back the way we came, then?" Azura queried.

"We don't have much choice," Marcus nodded.

They headed back and crossed the chamber via a catwalk to the other side, since the walkway didn't extend all the way around the perimeter. Marcus held his breath and refused to look down. It was fortunate that he did, as he saw a shifting distortion at the top of a flight of stairs on the other side. He dropped to a crouch, and instinctively, Azura followed him, though she hadn't seen it yet.

"Seeker!" he breathed, and she nodded, following the trajectory of the bow-shot he was lining up. The arrow flew true and struck the creature squarely in the chest but didn't drop it. An angry chirruping noise was heard as the Seeker immediately split into two and began sending out more of the battering, energy draining pulses.

 _Which one is the original now?_ Marcus wondered, irritated. One of the Seekers was already coming down the stairs to close with them on the catwalk, which was the last thing he wanted. _Fight on an open walkway?_ he shuddered mentally. _Not in my worst nightmare._

He sent another arrow out towards the Seeker still at the top of the stairs, even as Azura launched a Wall of Ice their way. The arrow impacted at the same instant as the Wall of Frost, and both Seekers winked out.

"That's the way to do it!" Marcus grinned.

"I think it was a bit of overkill, actually," Azura replied, amused.

"Whatever works," Marcus affirmed. "We make a good team!"

At the top of the stairs a landing panned out. There was nothing here except another Book on a pedestal. No levers, no buttons, no scryes.

"This isn't Chapter Three," Marcus frowned. The book looked completely different from the Chapters they needed to progress. The cover was greenish black, like everything else in Apocrypha, with the words _On Apocrypha: Boneless Limbs_ emblazoned on it, and there were no scrolling glyphs inside, but simple words.

" _A writhing mass of heaped appendage_

 _Slipping grasp the squirming slick_

 _Extend the reach to touch the face_

 _Burn the mind, reveal the quick"_

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Marcus demanded.

"I'm not sure," Azura admitted. "But knowing Hermaeus Mora, it's some kind of puzzle we'll have to figure out. Anyway, the stairs down there opened up when I took the book."

Marcus looked across the chamber. Sure enough, the stone steps had extended, and they could now move forward.

"Should we take it with us?" he asked, doubtfully.

"I think we have to," Azura nodded, stashing it carefully into her pack. "I'm sure we'll find out what to do with it, the further along we go."

"Alright," Marcus nodded. "Follow me and stick close."

"Like a burr on a dog!" Azura laughed.

The stairs led up to a balcony area. From here they had a rather impressive view of Apocrypha laid out before them. The poisonous seas spread out before them, with outcroppings of other land masses here and there. They couldn't see the Summit from this perspective, however. Tentacles undulated from both above and below, and the greenish pall lay over everything.

"What a depressing place," Marcus observed.

"Well, look who created it," Azura quipped. "Anyone obsessed with acquiring knowledge, but not using it, has little time for imagination."

Chapter Three lay on a pedestal to their right. _I'll be so glad when this is all over,_ Marcus thought morosely as they leaned in together.

* * *

Once again, they were attacked without warning. They were in an enclosed alcove that was open to the sky. Azura blasted out a wave of ice, and Marcus, without thinking, followed suit. The Seeker divided itself, and by tacit understanding, Marcus concentrated on the one to their right, while Azura dealt with the one to the left. Not knowing which of the two was the original, it was the best tactic they had. When the creature was defeated they looked around.

Arches of stone and filigree lay ahead of them. A light floated overhead, but it wasn't nearly as dark here as it had been in _Filament and Filigree._ The latticed wall to their right revealed a scrye.

"Well, at least we know where it is," Azura remarked.

"Yeah, but getting to it is another problem," Marcus noted. There seemed to be no other way into it except through the lattice. "This has to open up somehow. We'll probably find a way to do that further on. Let's keep moving."

They came to a T-intersection facing another filigreed wall showing an area beyond. Crouched as they were, they saw the Seekers this time before they were seen. They split and circled around, Azura to the left and Marcus to the right. A whip-crack sound and a stifled "OW!" alerted the Seekers to Azura's presence as a tentacle withdrew into the pool just around the left corner.

"Dammit!" Marcus muttered. He rounded the corner and sent off his Wall of Ice towards the Seeker he could see. It was met by another Wall sent by Azura, and the Seeker writhed in pain. Not waiting for it to recover, Marcus sent off an Icy Spear and a simple Ice Spike before his magicka tapped out, but it was enough. The Seeker collapsed. Around the corner, Azura – with her deeper pool of magicka – sent out another Wall right after the first one and followed it up with a dual-cast Icy Spear. The Seeker dissolved into rags, and Azura, in another fit of pique, glazed over the pool with a final Wall of Ice.

"And _stay_ there!" she huffed angrily, rubbing her backside.

Marcus' face worked desperately to hide a smile, and he had to turn away. "I think we go this way," he said, pointing towards a flight of stairs leading up to the right.

A platform at the top of the stairs held an altar table with soul gems and books. Azura scooped up the gems and flipped idly through the books. "There's nothing here I can use or want right now," she told Marcus. She moved over to the pod chest next to the table.

"You don't want _Song of the Alchemists_?" Marcus asked, picking up the book.

"I've read it already," Azura said, rummaging through the pod. "There's nothing in there I don't already know how to do."

"I'll keep it, then," he smiled. "I promised the alchemist in Morthal, Lami, that if I ever found a copy, I'd bring it to her, and she'd teach me some tricks she knows."

"That's a good deal," Azura smiled. "I'd read the book too, though, if I were you," she added. "You've admitted you don't do much alchemy. The book might help."

"I'll do that," Marcus nodded. "But not right now. Anything good in there?" he asked, tucking the book away.

"Pretty much what we have been finding," Azura said. "Gold, some gems, a few minor enchanted items, and a couple more books."

"Take the other stuff," Marcus advised. "Leave the books. I've already got those."

He turned around and noticed the pedestal in the shadowy recesses of the far wall of the landing. "Looks like there's another one of those non-Chapter books here," he commented. Picking it up, he observed the title: ' _On Apocrypha: Delving Pincers.'_ He opened the book and read aloud.

" _Crushing razors, hollow shells_

 _That snap, that twitch, that cinch and rend_

 _To hold the subject, bodily,_

 _'Til mind blows soft and life meets end"_

"Sounds painful," he winced.

"Everything in this place is painful," Azura scowled, rubbing her still-sore backside.

"Everything in this place wants to kill us," Marcus pointed out. "Still, we'd better take it with us. And let's retrace our steps. This is a dead-end. The last time we picked up one of these _On Apocrypha_ books it opened something. Maybe it opened up that alcove with the scrye in it."

Marcus' reasoning was sound. The wall had indeed opened up, giving them access to the scrye and a magicka font which neither of them needed at this point. Azura brushed the scrye and it closed. The floor beneath their feet rumbled, and the two grabbed onto the doorframe in alarm for support as the back wall telescoped away from them, extending into a corridor which went straight for some way before turning into a ramp leading up. A magicka font stood at the base of the ramp.

At the top, the corridor turned to the right past an altar with a Stamina font above it. On the table lay a book that made Azura's eyes widen in delight.

" _Catalog of Weapon Enchantments_!" she exclaimed. "I've been looking for a copy of this forever!"

"Take it," Marcus smiled. "I've already got a copy at home."

They continued to follow the corridor to an open area with lattice-work walkways that crisscrossed hundreds of feet above a sheer drop. The stone ledge they were on did not wrap all the way around the perimeter. A scrye sat to their left, and Azura activated it automatically. A gate against the far right-hand side of the chamber opened, but they were at the wrong angle to see what was behind it. Across from them, at the end of one of the filigreed catwalks, was another pod chest. From the chest, the stone ledge continued up to a platform that held another pedestal.

"I'll bet there's another book up there," Azura remarked.

"I'm not taking that bet," Marcus grinned. Between the pedestal and the gate which had opened from the scrye was another closed gate. "But I'll bet it opens that gate."

"Not going to take that one, either," Azura chuckled. There were no minions of Mora here to hinder them, so they quickly looted the chitin vessel they found in the first alcove before returning to get the book from the pedestal.

"' _On Apocrypha: Prying Orbs'_ ," Azura read. "Well, there's certainly a lot of those around here!" She sent a furtive glance around the empty chamber, as if nervous Hermaeus Mora might put in an appearance, but the area remained blissfully quiet.

" _What takes the world in lightened sense_

 _Can also seek the outward gleam_

 _They rob the all of essence to_

 _Report the nothing they have seen"_

"Whoever wrote these must have been on skooma," Azura pronounced, wrinkling her nose. "None of these make any sense."

"Let's keep hoping they do further on," Marcus said. "That gate opened over there, by the way, just like I figured it would. Shall we?"

"I'm right behind you," Azura assured him.

The corridor beyond the gate bent to the left and ended with the anticipated pedestal and Chapter Four.

* * *

They found themselves on an open balcony with a stone arch framing their view of the realm beyond, which consisted of a series of low platforms and filigreed walkways over the infernal ichor of Apocrypha. Stairs flanked the balcony on either side, leading down to the lower levels.

Two Seekers wandered the area, teleporting quickly in dark mist form from one side to the other. They did not notice Marcus and Azura yet, at the top of the stairs. The two companions pulled back to decide their strategy.

"If we wait for them to get close together," Azura breathed, "we can hit them with a double Wall of Ice."

"We tried that before," Marcus reminded her. "It didn't stop them."

"No, but it took them down several notches," Azura insisted. "If they duplicate themselves we'll have four to deal with instead of just two."

"Alright," Marcus nodded. "We'll start with that. Just don't be surprised at anything I might do afterwards."

"Oh?" the Bosmer girl inquired, arching an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," Marcus smiled grimly. "I'm making this up as I go."

Two whirling storms of ice barreled down on the Seekers, causing their tentacles to twist and shrivel right up to their faces – what passed for them, anyway. Turning sluggishly to react to this assault, they found themselves confronting a veritable barrier of steel in the form of the Dragonborn under the influence of his Slow Time Shout. Once again, Azura was left wondering what purpose she served as Marcus cut down both Seekers before she could launch a targeted Icy Spear.

"You really don't need me here," she said sourly as he phased back into normal time. "Not when you can do that."

Marcus looked abashed. "I don't always have someone at my back," he admitted. "So I sometimes forget when I do. Just know that I very much appreciate you being here with me. I'm only one Dragonborn, after all, and my powers aren't limitless. Honestly, I don't know how I could have gotten this far without your help."

Azura smiled warmly. "It's alright," she replied. "I would never have done this at all without you. You've given me more adventure in two weeks than I've had in the last hundred years! And we're so close to seeing this through to the end. I'm not backing out now. Shall we push on?"

There was an altar table on a raised platform near the Seekers' remains, but the only other way out of this area was a corridor that led off to the right. Following this brought them to an area that held another altar table that held a single potion bottle. Azura taste-tested it.

"Wow! This is a really powerful healing potion!" she exclaimed, packing it carefully away.

Marcus was examining the corridors. One went past the altar table. The other branched off from it perpendicular to the other.

"Which way?" Azura asked.

"In times like these I flip a coin," Marcus said. "Or we could Rock, Paper Scissors for it."

"I'm not familiar with that method," Azura said. "Could you explain, please?"

Marcus grinned. "Sure," he said holding out his fist. "This is Rock. This," he flattened out his hand, "is Paper." He held up two fingers. "This is Scissors. Rock beats Scissors." He bashed the hand representing Scissors with his other fist, representing Rock. "Scissors cuts Paper." He made a cutting motion with his Scissors-hand on the other now representing Paper. "And Paper covers Rock." He covered the hand representing Rock with the one representing Paper.

Azura eyed him warily. "I think we should just flip a coin," she said slowly. "That sounds easier."

Marcus shrugged and pulled out a septim. "Okay," he grinned, "but one of these days I'll find someone besides Tamsyn to play Rock, Paper, Scissors with me."

"Try Enthir," Azura snorted. "That sounds like something right up his alley."

Marcus flipped the coin and Azura called heads while it was still in the air. She caught the coin and smacked it onto the back of her hand. "Heads," she announced. "We'll go this way." She pointed down the branched-off passageway.

They hadn't gone far, however, before the tunnel began collapsing in on itself, shortening its length, and forcing them to return to the altar table.

"Well, that didn't work out so well," Azura huffed. "I guess we go the other way after all."

But that didn't work any better for them. This corridor also telescoped in on itself as the two scrambled back to the altar table.

"Now what?" Azura fumed.

"I guess we'll have to go back to that chamber where the Seekers were," Marcus said. "It's clear we aren't meant to go this way."

Retracing their steps, however, revealed that while their attention had been focused on the way ahead, the way behind them had changed. It now led into an area neither remembered.

"Did I mention I hate this place?" Azura muttered.

"Did I mention I agree?" Marcus growled.

Latticed ironwork over the waters of Apocrypha covered this area. It was a largish chamber with nothing remarkable about it except for another flight of stairs leading up. They followed this up to a platform and another flight to a final platform with a pedestal and another book, _On Apocrypha: Gnashing Blades._

" _Bone extrusions gash and grind_

 _In moistened depths of smacking heat_

 _While tearing flesh from adverse bone_

 _The body whole prepares to eat"_

"This is getting really gruesome," Azura complained. "But at least the way opened up down there."

She pointed, and Marcus saw a corridor was revealed that hadn't been there before. They followed the convoluted trail to an alcove area flanked with two altar tables to either side. One of the books was called _Shadowmarks,_ and when Marcus opened it a familiar name leaped out at him.

"Hey, this was written by Delvin Mallory!" he exclaimed, flipping through the rest of the book. "I know this guy! So _that's_ what all those strange marks are for…" His voice trailed off as he remembered one of those 'strange marks' on Breezehome in Whiterun. He had pointed it out to Tamsyn, having found it in an inconspicuous corner near the door. She had merely glanced at it at the time and told him not to worry about it.

"It's probably some Nordic blessing," she'd said. Now he looked through the book until he found it: a diamond with two interlocking circles across the middle. As he read the description, he could almost hear Delvin Mallory's voice in his head.

" _Protected. We put these Shadowmarks on places we don't want you to go. As in stay out of there or there's going to be a boot up the backside. These people are under the Guild's protection and should never be robbed or assaulted."_

Marcus chuckled to himself. He hadn't asked for it, but it was nice to know the Thieves' Guild had his back. Moreover, he was quite certain that Tamsyn had known all along what it was. He pocketed the book.

As they moved past the altar tables the corridor once again telescoped, but this time it expanded ahead of them. The passage twisted and turned several times after this, leading them up stairs and across open areas. They took out another Seeker before it could see them and continued to follow the ways that opened up to them. A scrye opened up something they had passed earlier, and they were forced to backtrack a bit, moving through an area that hadn't been there before. Marcus was, by this time, thoroughly done with Hermaeus Mora's double-blind passages.

"We could have been through this place and be at the Summit already if it weren't for these damned twists and turns," he grumbled. Azura grunted in agreement.

They were crossing a large open chamber with a pool in the middle of it when the Lurker attacked, rising from the stygian depths of the ichor in which it laired. It spewed out its hatefully toxic vomit, catching both of them by surprise. The acid flux burned and stung, and the Dragonborn and his Bosmer companion hissed in pain as their skin blistered and peeled.

Azura fired off a healing spell on herself first, having caught the worst of it, while Marcus gave voice to his Slow Time Shout and laid into the creature. Azura hit it with a paralysis spell, but the Lurker shrugged it off. It ignored her as it desperately tried to fend off the whirling wave of steel coming at it, seemingly from all sides at once as Marcus moved around it faster than the blink of an eye.

In two heartbeats, he had brought it to one knee as Azura peppered it with her Firebolt spells, unwilling to use an area of effect attack with Marcus so close to it. With one final dual-cast, she hit the creature squarely in the chest and it flew backwards a few feet from the force of her spell. Marcus phased back into real time once more.

"Nice shot!" he grinned, wiping off Dragonbane and sheathing it. He fired off his own healing spell.

Azura smiled back. "You softened him up for me. Now, where do we go from here?"

They located a scrye and activated it, and learned that it opened a gate on the other side of the filigreed wall. But this only led to another scrye. Touching this one opened part of the wall in the Lurker chamber.

"He couldn't have just let the one out there open up the wall, could he?" Azura grumbled.

This corridor led up a ramp to another platform, past magicka and stamina fonts. Chapter Five lay on its pedestal at the far end.

"I wish I knew how close we are to the end," Azura lamented. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting awfully tired."

"Did you want to take a break and rest?" Marcus asked solicitously. "I'm sorry I've been pushing you so hard."

"Not at all, Marcus," Azura smiled, though he could see it took some effort on her part. "I know how badly you want to get through this and see your wife again."

Marcus nodded, but replied, "I also think we'll have a fight on our hands of one kind or another. It might be a good idea to take a couple of hours' rest before we push on. I'll take the first watch, if you like. You know, keep an eye out for Seekers and such. I don't think we'll be bothered by Lurkers here."

"I hate to ask it—"

"Rest," Marcus insisted. "I'll wake you in a couple of hours so I can catch a few Z's myself."

"Catch a few-?"

"Never mind," he chuckled. "Sleep."

Azura was too tired to argue and laid down to stretch out on the floor of the platform, against the wall of the alcove. Marcus positioned himself at the top of the ramp that led back down to the Lurker's chamber, watchful for any intrusion.

* * *

"You seem to be in better health, after your rest," Miraak observed.

"I do feel better," Tamsyn replied. "Perhaps that's all I needed was a good sleep. Any sign of Sahrotaar?"

"None," Miraak responded, troubled. The dragon had never been away so long before. What had sent him off?

"Has Mora made any assault against the shield?" Tamsyn inquired.

"No," Miraak answered. "But I doubt he will let us rest for very long. I know him too well. When one course of action proves fruitless, he will undoubtedly attempt to achieve his ends through other, subtler means."

"We'll have to keep on our guard, then," the Breton girl nodded. "I have an inkling what he's capable of, but except for one interaction with him before coming to Apocrypha, I really don't know what he will do."

"Ah, so you've met him before?" the First Dragonborn asked, arching an eyebrow. "Would you mind telling me what transpired?"

Tamsyn hesitated. "I'm not proud of myself," she admitted. "I called attention to myself, knowing it would happen, but it didn't really hit me until it did."

"I'm a very good listener," Miraak encouraged, settling himself down on the nearest chair.

Tamsyn sighed. "I was helping a man named Septimus Signus," she said. "He was trying to open up a Dwemer lockbox. Marcus and I needed his help in finding an Elder Scroll, and I knew Septimus knew where one was."

"Didn't _you_ also know?" Miraak pointed out. "I mean, if you had been through all of this in your…game?"

"Yes, I knew where the Scroll would be," Tamsyn nodded in acknowledgement of his point, "but I also knew we would need the Dwarven attunement sphere that Septimus had, or we'd never be able to get into Blackreach."

"But Signus wanted something in return for the sphere?"

Tamsyn nodded again. "He gave us a Dwarven lexicon, which he wanted us to plug into the Dwemer machine that held the Scroll, so he could figure out how to open the lockbox in his outpost."

"And you did that for him, I take it." Miraak studied her closely as she spoke. The Arch-Mage's face was an open book of emotions. He wondered if she was aware how much it told him about her.

"Marcus did, actually," Tamsyn said. "I didn't go with him to Blackreach. We…had a falling out at that time. We didn't make up until later."

"So the Dragonborn returned the lexicon to Septimus Signus, then," Miraak guessed.

"No," Tamsyn said. "He forgot all about it. I had to take it back there and inscribe it, and then return to Septimus. But the instructions it gave him only presented another problem: he wasn't a Dwemer, so he couldn't open the box. It needed Dwemer blood."

"I can see where that would be an issue," Miraak drawled, "given the fact that the Dwemer removed themselves from Nirn thousands of years ago." He chuckled in amusement. "So how did Signus get around that little detail?"

"He was very clever about it, actually," Tamsyn gave a faint smile. "He created a panoply of blood from all the other races of mer."

"Which you had to acquire for him," Miraak stated.

"Which I had to acquire," Tamsyn nodded. "And I knew what would happen when I gave it to him," she added, her face haunted, "but I gave it to him anyway."

"I'm assuming it allowed him to open the Dwemer lockbox," Miraak surmised. "What did he expect to find inside?"

"Septimus thought he would find the heart of Lorkhan inside," Tamsyn replied. "But I knew that wasn't the case. Septimus would never have believed me, though, if I'd told him."

"What _was_ inside?" Miraak asked, already guessing where this would lead.

" _The Oghma Infinium,_ " Tamsyn replied, not looking at him. "Hermaeus Mora planted it there to lure the Last Dragonborn to him. He got me instead."

"And Signus?"

"Mora disintegrated him to ash as soon as he was no longer useful to him," the Arch-Mage whispered, hanging her head. "I knew it would happen, and I could have left it alone. I could have left Septimus to live out the rest of his days, puttering around his ice cave with the lockbox unopened and secure, and I wouldn't have been responsible for murdering him."

Miraak's eyes widened. "How do you believe you are responsible?" he asked, his voice gentler than it had been for many millennia.

"I could have let him live," Tamsyn whispered. "But I wanted the _Oghma._ I thought there might be something in it that could help us win the war against the Thalmor."

Miraak was silent for several moments, while Tamsyn wrestled with her guilt and grief.

"You weren't responsible," he said finally. "You didn't kill Septimus, Mora did."

"But I could have—"

"No, Arch-Mage," the First Dragonborn said firmly. "You could not have. You said it yourself: Mora set the trap to lure in the Last Dragonborn. He snared you instead. Had you been anyone other than who you are, he would have ignored you, and set another trap for your husband. But you _are_ who you are: the wife of the Dragonborn, and the daughter of Julianos himself. And the fact that Mora could sense something different about you, or that he perceived using you as a means to get to your husband, is not your fault."

Miraak blew out a breath and looked out over the green pall of Apocrypha. "The Daedra are relentless," he went on. "Once they set their minds on something, they seldom let go. I know this all too well. For centuries I was a pawn of Hermaeus Mora – his Champion, in fact – until I finally rebelled against him. But I didn't break free until I was certain I was strong enough to do so. I have…certain advantages, being Dragonborn," he added, with an ironic twist of a smile. "I had the power within me to resist. You have similar power, being part Aedra. An ordinary mortal would not be able to withstand a Daedra's claim on their soul."

"You're telling me in one breath that I have the power to resist Mora," Tamsyn pointed out, "but in another you're telling me I couldn't have stopped what happened to Septimus Signus."

"If it had not been you, Arch-Mage, Mora would have found another. And if it had not been Septimus Signus, it would have been another. You resisted becoming Mora's Champion then, did you not?"

At Tamsyn's nod, he went on. "Your faith in the Aedra, your very nature, prevented you from becoming ensnared. But Signus was doomed the moment he agreed to become a minion of Mora. The Daedric Prince of Secret Knowledge has no use for an army of minions. He prefers to beguile, connive and capture his followers one at a time. When one proves to be of no further use, he discards or destroys them in favor of his new Champion. I know too well the fate that awaits me, now that I no longer accept him as my mentor."

"I won't let that happen," Tamsyn said firmly. "I'm still not certain bringing you back to Nirn is a good idea—"

"I thought we'd gotten past that," Miraak complained, giving her a pained look.

"—but no one deserves to be trapped here in Apocrypha for all eternity," she finished with a smile.

Miraak returned her smile. "Thank you, Arch-Mage." He hesitated. "There is…something I've been meaning to tell you—"

He broke off as the skies overhead lowered, and Hermaeus Mora launched another assault on the Summit. Any opportunity for normal conversation was eliminated, as the two powerful mages, one part-Aedra, one Dragonborn, fought to keep their sanctuary intact from the Daedra's assault.

* * *

Marcus and Azura found themselves in an alcove at the end of a short corridor that led to the left for a brief way before turning right and opening into a vast chamber. Catwalks of filigree once more crisscrossed this area, connecting to a central brazier, shaped like a gigantic upturned claw, which stood almost fifteen feet high and shot out flames of emerald, jade, olive and lime green. Pedestal were set around the chamber at the cardinal points, with catwalks leading up to them from the perimeter.

Three Seekers in this area were immediately alerted to their presence, and both the Dragonborn and the Bosmer mage sent out waves of frost before spreading out along the perimeter of the chamber. The closest Seeker drifted to the left, and Marcus targeted him, since it looked larger than the other two, and the percussive drains seemed to hurt a lot more.

" _FO KRAH DIIN!"_ he thundered. The wave of frost hit the Boss Seeker and shriveled his tentacles right up to its face, making the Dragonborn grin ferally. He followed it with another Wall of Frost, before feeling his magicka deplete. Dual-casting made it stronger, but it cost more in terms of the that wellspring of energy within him that powered his spells. He drew his dragonbone bow then, and nocked an arrow. He didn't bother to crouch, since the Seeker already knew he was here.

Another wave of energy drain hit him, and he staggered.

 _Damn! This bastard's_ tough! Marcus thought to himself. All the more reason to bring him down quickly. He hoped Azura would be able to handle the other two Seekers.

The Boss Seeker duplicated itself.

 _Sonofabitch!_

There was no reason to expect the others hadn't done the same. He spared a glance towards his companion and saw that she had summoned a Frost Atronach to send against the other two – no, _four_ Seekers.

 _Not a bad idea,_ Marcus thought as the tightening in his throat eased, and he knew he could Shout again.

" _HUN KAAL ZOOR!"_ he bellowed.

Nothing happened.

"What the fuck?" Marcus exclaimed as he braced himself against another Seeker attack.

"Language, mister!" Azura called.

"Why didn't my Shout work?" he gritted out, exasperated. He fired off three more arrows in quick succession, hitting each time, and watching the Boss Seeker stagger.

"I don't know!" Azura yelled back. "You're the Dragonborn. What were you trying to do?"

"Call for backup," Marcus hollered as he dived behind a pile of rubble to avoid another blast of energy drain. He quickly rummaged through his pack for potions, even as the Boss Seeker – or its doppelganger – attempted to come at him from the side.

"Maybe it doesn't work here in Apocrypha," Azura suggested. The Bosmer girl was hard pressed to keep all four of the lesser Seekers in sight. Her Frost Atronach took out one, but it collapsed into ash, so she knew it was not the original. It lumbered over to the next one, but expired before it could reach its target, due to the relentless onslaught of the energy drain the Seeker kept lobbing out.

Marcus scowled as his hands closed over one of the uber-potions Elynea had made. He downed it swiftly and felt relieved as it took effect. Everything seemed to be back to normal, and he sent out his own Frost Atronach and sent it against the Seeker attempting to flank him on his left side.

If he could take out the original, he knew, the duplicate would collapse as well. But he hadn't been able to keep his eyes on both Boss Seekers all the time, and now he couldn't remember which one had been the summoned one.

"Sending out a Seeker," Azura called. "Please don't kill it!"

"Noted!" Marcus yelled back. As he watched, another Seeker appeared, this one almost as big and buff as the two he was fighting. It immediately turned and attacked one of the three remaining Seekers threatening Azura.

Confident she had matters in hand on her side of the arena, Marcus concentrated on the task at hand. His Frost Atronach had winked out under the abuse it was taking, and he couldn't really tell how much effect it had had on the enemy. The two Boss Seekers seemed to feel their target was softened up enough for a direct approach, and they closed in together, still sending out that enervating drain.

Marcus knew Unrelenting Force would be pointless against creatures that levitated. He chose instead a different tactic.

" _IIZ SLEN NUS!"_

The Boss Seeker closest to him – by about two feet – suddenly seized up as crystals of ice formed and spread all over it, encasing it in a frozen shell. All movement inside slowed to a halt, and the creature dropped to the catwalk, a large, solid chunk of freeze-dried Seeker.

The one behind it winked out of existence, and Marcus crowed happily. He'd gotten the original!

Across the chamber, however, Azura was still fighting against two more Seekers. Her summoned one was pummeling the other two as Azura seemed to be charging herself up. Marcus raised his bow to assist, but he needn't have bothered. The Bosmer mage unleashed a blizzard that radiated out for twenty feet in all directions, and every Seeker in that area – even hers – collapsed into shrouds.

Azura staggered a bit from the force of her spell, and Marcus quickly crossed the area to catch her before she could topple over the edge of the perimeter.

"That was some powerful spell!" he said, admiringly.

"Master level," his companion smiled weakly. "That's why I don't do it often. It takes a lot out of me."

"Sit down," he told her solicitously. He rummaged in her pack and bought out another of Elynea's potions. "Drink this. It'll help, believe me. I don't know what she put in there, but these are some dynamite potions!"

"What's 'di-nah-mite'?" Azura asked, perplexed.

Marcus opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. Nope. Some things were better left unsaid. Especially when speaking to an enterprising Bosmer mage who might just figure out how to make it.

 _Although,_ he considered to himself, _that_ could _be enormously useful against the Thalmor!_ Still, this was neither the time nor the place to go into that.

"I just meant they're really good," he said lamely. "Drink up and then we can see what's going on here."

The pedestals, they found as they investigated, were set facing towards the central brazier. Each pedestal had strange pictographs on them. It didn't take them long to figure out what they were for.

"Each of those strange books we found belongs on these pedestals," Marcus observed. "We need to put the correct book on the correct pedestal to go any further."

"I'm going to guess that _Prying Orbs_ belongs on the pedestal with the eyeballs on it, then," Azura remarked, placing the book there.

"And _Gnashing Blades_ goes on the one with the fangs, _Boneless Limbs_ on the one with the tentacles," Marcus added, setting the books on each pedestal in turn.

"And _Delving Pincers_ goes on the pedestal with the claws," Azura finished, putting the last book in its place.

A gong sounded from somewhere and a golden light illuminated an empty pedestal to one side of the brazier. Except as they looked, a Book appeared on the table.

"That looks like Chapter Six," Azura sighed. "I'll be so glad when we're done here!"

"So will I," Marcus concurred. "I'm going to sleep for a week!"

* * *

They found themselves in another tight alcove. This one faced a wall, with corridors stretching to the left and right. Azura peered warily around the corners looking for pools of ichor and breathed a sigh of relief when none were to be found.

On the other side of the wall a tunnel led to a ramp that ascended up to an open area they could not yet see, but the jade skies of Apocrypha were clearly present. Next to the doorway stood yet another altar table with more soul gems and ruined books. Not all were ruined, however. Under a pile of deteriorating parchment, Azura found _The Art of War Magic._

"I've read this one," she told Marcus. "It has some interesting tips on the uses of Destruction magic in a combat setting."

"Bring it with us," Marcus said. "I'm open to suggestion."

They made their way cautiously up the ramp. Marcus sent ahead his Aura Whisper and located two red blobs he recognized now as Seekers, though it disturbed him that they looked like ordinary people under the influence of his _thu'um._

They were drifting in front of a Word Wall, but it was like none he had ever seen. Even from this distance, he could see the scripts scrolling across the face of the curved stone. The chanting, even this far away, was much more pronounced.

The area between them was open and covered with areas of stone connected with latticed ironwork. Under it all, the waters of Apocrypha gurgled and roiled. Beyond the Wall it was open sea, and in the distance, they could see the rising tower of the Summit – the first time they had seen it since the first Chapter.

"Two Seekers," Marcus murmured, turning back to Azura. "We need to hit them hard and fast. I don't want them splitting."

"Agreed," Azura nodded. "How do you want to handle it?"

"Send out that frost wall again," he said. "I'll Slow Time and get in their faces. Don't worry about hitting me. I've got protection, and I can always swill a potion."

His companion nodded again and he could see icicles forming at the ends of her gauntleted hands.

It worked beautifully. Azura's frost spells staggered and slowed the Seekers. Before they could react, the Dragonborn was suddenly there, a whirling dervish of steel and magic. They collapsed into rags just as Marcus felt himself phasing back into real time once more.

"We should have done that before," he grimaced, shuddering. Protection or not, the cold still affected him as he chugged down a stamina potion.

"You could have used _that,_ " Azura noted, pointing to Scourge at his hip. He was thankful she didn't name it here. No telling who might be listening.

"I don't want to reveal my hand too soon," he shrugged. "Got to keep an ace in the hole."

Azura rolled her eyes. "You have the most colorful expressions," she sighed. "Any ideas how we're going to get out there to the Summit?"

"I'm working on that," Marcus stalled. "Let me see what Word is here, first."

"This is very strange," Azura commented, following him. "Are all the Word Walls like this? Do you see the writing move and hear that chanting every time?"

Marcus started and stared at her.

"You can hear the chanting?"

"I can now," she admitted. "I couldn't before, at the other Walls we saw. And the carvings never moved before."

"They didn't then, either," Marcus confirmed. "But this…this is crazy!"

He approached the wall, and as before, one Word seemed to ignite, the energy streaming out and into him.

"By my namesake!" Azura breathed, watching him. "It's almost like when you take a dragon's soul!"

 _Diiv,_ Marcus read, and he used his last remaining dragon soul to unlock its deeper meaning. _Diiv_ was a much older word for _dov,_ or 'dragon.' More specifically, it meant 'wyrm,' and as he read the entire script, he was reminded again of the man he must ultimately confront here. He read the words aloud:

" _This stone commemorates great Miraak:_

 _Dragon Priest of great wisdom, servant_

 _of the wyrm, and enemy of mankind"_

"Nothing like praising and damning in the same passage," Azura remarked with some irony.

"Hopefully, he's undergone some rehabilitation," Marcus replied. "Now, we need to—"

A roar split the air, and both companions cast their eyes around the skies to find its source. A long, sinuous shape glided through the air and unleashed a column of fire at them. Marcus knew this must be Sahrotaar, of whom both Relonikiv and Kruzikrel had spoken. He also realized this was the dragon Miraak flew away on, on his first entrance into Apocrypha, leaving him to the not-so-tender mercies of the Seekers who sent him painfully back to Nirn.

Diving apart to avoid the attack, Marcus tumbled quickly to his feet and attempted to reason with the dragon, as he had done with Relonikiv and Kruzikrel.

"Hold, Sahrotaar," he called out in _dovahzul._ "Stay your breath. I would speak to you."

Azura, whose hands were filled with lightning and ice, lowered her stance but remained on guard.

" _Niid, Dovahkiin,"_ the serpentine dragon hissed. "My lord Miraak desires your death. I am willing to be the one who gives that to him." He unleashed another column of flame directly at Marcus, who barely got his ward up in time.

"Now hold on a minute!" Marcus cried in the common language, certain the dragon could understand him. "How do you know that? When was the last time you talked with him?"

"I will not trade words with you, _Dovahkiin,_ " Sahrotaar roared in the same tongue. "By your death my _thuri_ will have to acknowledge my worth to him."

 _Great,_ Marcus grumbled to himself. _Just my luck to have to deal with a dragon with an inferiority complex and an axe to grind._

Sahrotaar had swung around and was coming in for another strafing run. Azura brought her hands up once more, but Marcus waved her off.

"I didn't want to do this, Sahrotaar," Marcus warned, "but you leave me no choice. _GOL HAH DOV!"_

The _thu'um_ hit the serpentine drake squarely in the chest, bringing him up short, floundering in the air. Confused, Sahrotaar settled himself on the stones in front of Marcus. Lowering his head, with the lower jaw jutting out, exposing a row of dagger-sharp teeth, the dragon said meekly, "Hail, _thuri_. Your _thu'um_ has the mastery. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak."

"Do we trust him?" Azura ventured, approaching cautiously.

"Dragons don't lie, Azura," Marcus replied quickly, before Sahrotaar could take offense. "They might omit some rather significant details, if you aren't specific enough, but they are true to their word. Climb aboard. I think we've got our ride."

"Beware," Sahrotaar warned as they settled themselves on his smooth neck ridges. "Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here."

"But you don't know everything," Marcus told the dragon as he took them effortlessly into the air. "I spoke with Kruzikrel and Relonikiv. Miraak sent them back. He was going to do the same for you, I was told, but you left before he could. Why did you leave?"

Sahrotaar was quiet for several heartbeats. "I did not know this," he admitted. "He spoke about returning to Nirn to the _Prok-Lahzey_. He did not speak of returning we who have been here with him nearly from the beginning of his incarceration."

"Sounds like you left before he could mention it," Azura called up, from behind Marcus' back where she clung 'like a burr on a dog,' as she put it.

Sahrotaar made a noise deep in his chest, almost like a growl, but Marcus – who had been around dragons for some years now and knew their ways – recognized it for what it was: a keening. It was the dragon equivalent of a dog's whine when it has been scolded. Sahrotaar felt ashamed.

"I have done my _thuri_ a disservice," the dragon admitted. "I am… _vax…tahrodiis."_

"You didn't know," Marcus said firmly. "Surely Miraak will understand that."

Any further conversation was impossible as they approached a tall tower between their position and the Summit. Seekers and Lurkers gathered at the top to attempt to thwart their progress.

"Hold on!" Sahrotaar called out. His leathery wings pumped harder as he strove to gain altitude to avoid the Seekers' pulses. The Lurkers could do nothing but stamp about in frustration as they flew on. As they approached the tower of the Summit, however, tentacles dropped down out of the skies and attempted to snatch the dragon and his passengers out of thin air.

"It's Mora!" Azura exclaimed. "Can we fight him here? If he dumps us off Sahrotaar, it's a long fall to death!"

"We're going to have to," Marcus said grimly. "Can you land, Sahrotaar?" he called to the dragon.

" _Niid, Dovahkiin,_ he responded. "There is a barrier that was not there before. I cannot pass through it." As he spoke, Sahrotaar wheeled away from the Summit to circumnavigate its perimeter, dodging the whiplash attacks of the Daedric appendages as he spoke. Marcus and Azura held on for their very lives, even as the Bosmer mage targeted the tentacles with her shock spells.

Two figures within the domed barrier were glowing with energy as they attempted to keep it in one piece against the relentless assault of boneless limbs that was Hermaeus Mora. Hundreds of eyes glared all around the top of the dome, piercing, examining, seeking a way in.

As the great serpentine dragon wove in between and around the tentacles, over the dome, the two figures looked up.

"Sahrotaar!" the man exclaimed. Marcus realized this was Miraak without his squid-like mask.

"Marcus!" Tamsyn cried, before the dragon had to wheel away again, and he couldn't hear her.

Quickly tapping the earring stud, and frowning in concentration, he called out in a normal voice, "Tamsyn, what's going on?"

He saw her touch her ear, and then suddenly she was there – or at least, her sweet voice was.

"Marcus! Oh, Marcus, my love, I'm so sorry—"

"Focus, sweetheart," he said with mock sternness. "Reunions later. Fill me in, quickly."

"Well, you've probably guessed Mora's not happy with us," Tamsyn's voice took on a wry tone. From somewhere close by he clearly heard Miraak comment with surprise:

"How are you doing that?"

"I'll tell you later," Tamsyn shushed him. "Marcus, I'll have to drop the barrier to let Sahrotaar in, but when I do, Mora will be able to attack us both here. He wants Miraak dead so you can become his Champion. And who's that with you?"

Marcus frowned, thinking rapidly. "Introductions will have to wait, too, my love. Can you shrink your barrier to protect just you and Miraak?"

"I think so—"

"Do it! I'm bringing this puppy in for a landing."

As Sahrotaar wheeled around Marcus could see the dome of the barrier receding away from the edge of the Summit until it was no more than about ten feet across.

"I do not appreciate being compared to an infant dog," Sahrotaar complained as he landed and allowed Marcus and Azura to scramble down.

"It's just an expression," Marcus soothed. Sahrotaar did not respond. Now grounded, he concentrated on flaming the appendages that had hindered him before. Azura continued to use her Destruction spells to keep the tentacles at bay, but they were everywhere.

Marcus dodged and ran a zig-zag course to where Tamsyn and Miraak were pinned, backed up against one arch that encircled the top of the mountain tower.

"Miraak!" Marcus intoned. "We need to talk."

"Now is not a good time, Dragonborn," Miraak said blandly. "I am rather busy at the moment trying to stay alive."

"Marcus, I can explain everything," Tamsyn began, but Marcus kept his gaze focused on Miraak. It was telling, he thought, that Mora's appendages were not attacking him. Clearly, Mora still assumed he would kill Miraak.

"It can wait, dear," he told his wife. "I want to hear from you, First Dragonborn. What are your intentions?"

Miraak gave a short, deprecating laugh. "My intention is to live, Marcus of Whiterun," the man from Atmora replied. "That is all I have ever wanted: to live in Tamriel once more."

"As what?" Marcus insisted. "You've enthralled and enslaved the Skaal and the Dunmer. They have horror stories of your atrocities. You're the poster child for what not to become. What will you do if you came back?"

"What do you want me to say, Dragonborn?" Miraak said with some heat. "That I won't enslave people anymore? That I will live out the rest of my days in contemplation and introspection? That I will help you in your fight against the Thalmor?"

Marcus blinked. Tamsyn really _had_ been talking with the man. "That'll do for a start," he drawled.

To his surprise, Miraak grinned. "Then, yes, Dragonborn. I will do all those things. I just want out of Apocrypha."

Marcus found himself returning the grin. "That works for me," he replied. "Tamsyn, can you protect him?"

The sun came out in her smile. "I absolutely can," she affirmed. She stepped out of the barrier she had created around the two of them, leaving the First Dragonborn alone inside. "But I'm not letting you fight Mora alone."

" _NOOO!"_

The skies above them were blotted out by tentacles dropping down like tornadoes. Thousands of eyes emerged and were swallowed up by the cloud that was Hermaeus Mora.

" _Traitor!"_ Mora bellowed at Marcus. _"You…promised!"_

"Actually, I never did." Marcus gave a feral grin. "You assumed."

Azura appeared at his side, having cleared her way to the group. Tamsyn looked her up and down.

"Who are you?" she demanded, a slight frown between her brows.

"Hello!" the Bosmer mage smiled shyly. "I'm Azura….not _that_ Azura," she added hastily.

"She's been helping me, sweetheart," Marcus told his wife quickly as the tentacles approached. "I couldn't have gotten this far without her help."

"Explain later," Miraak said drily. "Fight now."

"Already on it!" Azura chirped, firing off electricity and frost spells into the mass around them.

"Right!" Marcus agreed. He unhooked the ebony mace from his belt and put it in his right hand, with Dragonbane in his left. With a wordless roar, he launched himself towards the thickest part of the mass that attempted to engulf them. The ebony mace hit with all the force he could muster, and Mora roared out in pain.

" _That weapon…what…have you done? I know…that mace!"_

Everywhere the mace touched, part of the mass died and became gray and inert. Tamsyn gasped behind Marcus as realization hit her.

"That's Scourge!" she cried. "You found Scourge!"

"Then we stand a chance!" Miraak approved. "Arch-Mage, release me from this barrier so that I may help."

"Not a chance, Miraak!" Tamsyn replied, shaking her head. "The very moment I set you free, you become vulnerable. Remember what I told you."

Miraak simmered, but a crafty look came into the Arch-Mage's eyes. "However…" She concentrated hard and made several gestures with her hands around the barrier. It shrank to encompass only the First Dragonborn himself. Miraak found himself bouncing slightly as he walked, as the shield extended even under his feet.

"You can move," Tamsyn said, slightly out of breath. "You can cast magic through it. You can even Shout through it. Just stay away from that pool." She threw a glance towards the center of the Summit, where tentacles were already whipping out around it towards them.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Azura squealed angrily. She sent a wave of ice storm towards the pool, and the tentacles that did not freeze and snap off retreated under the solid layer of ice.

Tamsyn grinned. "That's pretty good!"

"I've had a lot of practice this trip," Azura said ruefully, wincing in remembered pain.

Marcus soon found that Mora retreated as swiftly as he advanced, unwilling to be struck again by the lethal mace. Looking up at the mass that was the Daedric Prince, he remembered what both Tamsyn and Azura had told him: that you couldn't kill a Daedra, you could only banish them. On the heels of that was Neloth's voice telling him, _"Scourge was forged by Malacath and dedicated to mortals to aid them in battle against the Daedra…it can sometimes banish them to the Void with one strike."_

He just had to get in one good hit.

"Miraak!" he called. "I need to borrow your dragon!"

To his credit, Miraak took in the situation in a glance. "Aid him, Sahrotaar," he directed the dragon. "And know that I am relieved you have returned. I would not have left you here."

The dragon ducked his head in shame. "I have failed you, _thuri—"_

"No," the Atmoran smiled his forgiveness. "It is I who have failed you. I should have made my intentions known to you and your brethren. Go now. Aid the young Dragonborn in any way you can."

"As my _thuri_ commands!" Sahrotaar exclaimed joyfully, leaning his neck down for Marcus to leap onto. He launched himself into the air with a resounding roar. "I am _Sah ro taar,_ Hermaeus Mora! Hear my _thu'um_ and despair!"

"Get us as close as you can to the center of his mass," Marcus directed. Far below he saw flashes of lightning, frost and flame as Tamsyn, Miraak and Azura battled the Daedric Prince on the ground. Repeated booms of Miraak's _thu'ums_ echoed around the Summit. Marcus made a mental note to himself: _If we get out of this alive, I'm going to ask him how he can Shout repeatedly without waiting to cool down._

Sahrotaar wove his way through the appendages which lashed out at the dragon while avoiding the Dragonborn.

On the Summit, Tamsyn, Miraak and Azura found themselves being pressed closer and closer together. Their spells kept the limbs at bay, but their space in which to maneuver was becoming more and more compromised.

"Can you put up another one of those barriers around all three of us?" Azura asked, digging furiously into her pack while trying to take pot-shots at the mass of eyes and limbs that threatened them.

"Maybe," Tamsyn hedged, trying to watch all sides at once. "It would take more out of me, but I can try."

"No," Azura objected. "Forget I said anything. I forgot how weak you are right now."

"I can lend you my strength, if needed, Arch-Mage," Miraak offered.

"Last resort," Tamsyn said firmly. "Let's save it for that. For now, let's just try to hold our own here and give Marcus a chance to do what he came to do."

"And what is that?" Miraak asked.

"We'll have to wait and see," was her cryptic answer.

" _Pitiful mortals!"_ Hermaeus Mora raged. _"I…will…crush…you…"_

"Not this time, Mora!" Marcus gritted. The undulating motions of the serpentine dragon had given him an idea. "Sahrotaar, take a nose dive!"

Whether the dragon understood the terminology or not, he understood the intent. As he turned his head down, the ripple went along his entire body, and Marcus rode it like a roller coaster. At the top of the dive, he lashed out at the mass above them with the ebony mace. It struck a glancing blow, and Mora retreated shrieking in agony. But it wasn't enough. He needed to get higher.

"Again, Sahrotaar!" he called. "Take us up and then dive. Higher, if you can!"

"I hear and obey, young _Dovahkiin!"_

Once more, the great leathery wings pumped through the thin air of Apocrypha, climbing to a greater height than before. At the peak of the climb, the dragon dropped so suddenly, Marcus almost lost his grip on Sahrotaar. He lashed out with Scourge again, but once more, Mora retreated before he could make solid contact.

For a third time, the dragon and the Dragonborn climbed into the sky to reach the mass that was Hermaeus Mora's main body. Though Marcus knew full well the Prince could evaporate away at a moment's notice, it seemed that for this battle, Mora was determined to see it through to the end and destroy both Dragonborn in his realm.

As the great serpentine dragon clawed his way higher than before, three enormous appendages reached out and struck the drake with such force that he toppled out of the sky. Marcus lost his grip on both the dragon and Scourge, and found himself plummeting towards the Summit. From the tail of his streaming eyes, he saw the mace follow Sahrotaar into the murky depths of the waters of Apocrypha. The ground rushed up to meet him just as he Shouted, _"FEIM!"_

From the ground, Tamsyn shrieked as she saw Marcus fall, unable to do anything to prevent it. In her fury at Hermaeus Mora, she didn't realize she was beginning to glow. Azura stepped back as far as their shrinking perimeter would permit, bumping up against the shield that protected Miraak from Mora's rage.

Pure white light emanated from the Arch-Mage and spread out around her. Everywhere it touched the mass of tentacles and eyes, that part went dead and gray. The aura widened around them, pushing back the darkness as the mass retreated.

"What's happening?" Azura quavered, wide-eyed.

"She's calling upon her Holy Aura," Miraak said quietly.

"Holy Aura?" the Bosmer girl echoed, confused.

"I forgot you didn't know," the First Dragonborn murmured kindly. "The Arch-Mage is the daughter of the God of Wisdom and Magic, Julianos himself."

Azura gawked in amazement, before complaining loudly, "Nobody tells me anything!"

Miraak chuckled beside her.

A sudden, lurching rumble in the ground beneath their feet threw them off balance. The white light went out as the mass of limbs and eyeballs evaporated completely and Tamsyn rushed to her husband's side. Marcus was unconscious, but alive. Tamsyn called forth more magical energy, and the peachy-gold light of healing surrounded and suffused the Last Dragonborn as he took a deep, gasping breath.

The ground lurched again, and something in the distance rumbled loudly.

Marcus sat up, reeling and dizzy. "Sahrotaar…?" he croaked.

"Gone," Miraak said quietly. Whatever emotion he felt about losing the serpentine dragon, he kept to himself, though Marcus saw the pain in his eyes. "And Scourge went with him. I suspect that is why Apocrypha is now falling apart."

" _What?"_

Marcus leaped to his feet and immediately wished he hadn't as his head began pounding.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Miraak replied. "Apocrypha is part of Hermaeus Mora. When Scourge went into the waters, it was as much as if Mora had grabbed the Mace of Malacath to claim it as his own."

"And doing so sent him into the Void," Marcus realized, as another shuddering temblor hit the Summit. "We need to get out of here!"

"How?" Azura demanded, her eyes wide with fear. "Every other Book we've been in had an ending to it that we read together to go back to Nirn. There _isn't_ one here!"

"I can get us home," Tamsyn said. "I learned of a way while I was trapped here."

"You found a copy of the _Oghma Infinium?"_ Azura asked, hopefully. Another tremor struck, lasting several seconds, and the Bosmer girl paled under her face paint. In the distance they saw a blackness on the horizon all around them. It was no more than a ribbon, but it was spreading rapidly in their direction.

"No," Tamsyn said. "It's a spell – beyond Master level – that will take us to Aetherius. From there I can get us back to Nirn."

"Better cast it then, my love," Marcus urged. "And hurry. I don't think we have much more time." He was eyeing the horizon as well.

"Alright, give me some room," Tamsyn replied. "It opens a portal." She began waving her hands but Miraak caught them.

"Arch-Mage, wait! Stop!"

"What?" Tamsyn spluttered, as Azura made 'please hurry up' gestures with her hands.

"What's going on, Miraak?" Marcus growled dangerously.

"There is something you should know," the First Dragonborn confessed. "Something I should have told you. I tried…but I couldn't find the words." He snatched the piece of parchment from his tunic and handed it to her. Tamsyn's face paled as she read its contents.

"What does it say?" Marcus demanded.

"Can we please hurry?" Azura urged.

Tamsyn blew out a breath. "So that's what this was," she said. "I knew it was missing, Miraak, and I knew you had to be the one to take it."

" _What?"_ Marcus practically Shouted. That ribbon of blackness was now about as thick as a dictionary.

"If I cast this spell it removes my mortality," Tamsyn said quietly, as the ground beneath them convulsed once more. "I could open another portal to Nirn, but I wouldn't be able to go through it. I'd be stuck in Aetherius."

Marcus whirled around to face the older man. "You _sonofabitch!_ " he growled, drawing Dragonbane and holding it at Miraak's throat. "You _knew!_ You were going to sacrifice _MY WIFE_ to get yourself home!"

Miraak swallowed gingerly against the point of the Akaviri blade. Tamsyn gently put her hand on the sword and pushed it down.

"That doesn't help us, Marcus," she said. "We need to get out of here now!"

"Please and thank you!" Azura writhed. Her face-paint had rivulets of clear skin where the tears were trickling down.

"How?" Marcus demanded. "We're all stuck here!"

"No!" Miraak called out. "There is another way. I could Shout you all back to Nirn."

"Shout—" Marcus broke off. Tamsyn's face cleared. _Of course,_ he realized. _The Shout Tsun used to send us home from Sovngarde._

"But that won't get _you_ back," Tamsyn pointed out. The darkness on the horizon was looming ever closer.

"After what he almost pulled—" Marcus began, but Tamsyn put her hand on his lips, stilling his argument.

"We _all_ go home, my love," she insisted. Marcus fumed.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Teach me the Shout, Miraak. We'll send the ladies home now. Give me your understanding of the _rotmulag._ You owe me that."

Miraak nodded. "Very well," he agreed. "Listen and learn, Dragonborn."

"Wait a minute!" Tamsyn protested. "You're not staying behind—"

" _NAHL DAAL VUS!"_

A warping sound was heard over the roaring rumble of Apocrypha being torn asunder, and Tamsyn and Azura vanished.

"Where did you send them?" Marcus demanded. "Tsun sent us to the summit of the Throat of the World."

"They will return to where their bodies are," Miraak replied. "Your wife will return to her College. Your friend will return to wherever she was when you entered Apocrypha this time."

"Tel Mithryn," Marcus nodded. "What about you? Where will you return?"

"To my Temple," the First Dragonborn said shortly. "Are you ready, Dragonborn? Here is my gift to you, in repayment of the debt I owe you for banishing Hermaeus Mora and freeing me."

The knowledge poured out of him and settled into Marcus' mind. _Nahl. Daal. Vus._ Living. Return. Nirn.

"Got it," Marcus confirmed. "Together on three, okay?" He eyed the blackness that was now far too close for comfort as part of the Summit broke away and fell into the Void. "One. Two—"

" _NAHL DAAL VUS!"_

* * *

 _[Author's Note: We are getting close to the end. There will be one more chapter (or maybe two, if needed) before we wrap things up with the Dragonborn DLC. I hope you have enjoyed this so far. Thank you, everyone, for staying with me. Thank you, also, for all the comments. They are greatly appreciated.]_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The two Dragonborn glared at each other. The Summit shook alarmingly, and the two men staggered as another chunk fell away into the Void.

"Why didn't it work?" Marcus demanded, feeling that edge of concern grow into full-blown panic inside. Outwardly, he strove to remain calm.

"I suspect we cancelled each other out," Miraak hesitated. "That is something I did not anticipate." He glared at Marcus. "I don't suppose it would do any good to point out that you cheated. You said, 'on three.'"

"No good at all," Marcus replied with a faint smile. "You cheated, too. You jumped the bow-shot as well."

Miraak returned the smile, but only briefly as another tremor shook the Summit. The stones of the Arches that ringed the Summit cracked under the stress.

"Okay, I'm open to suggestion here," Marcus invited, eyeing the rapidly-approaching roil of blackness consume everything in its path around them.

"The Book," Miraak said quickly. Though very little tended to upset him, he, too, was looking extremely concerned. " _Waking Dreams._ The one that brought you here. It might take you back."

"Might?" Marcus burst out. "There's no room for error, here, Miraak. We're both going to die here if we can't find a way out. Why only 'might'?"

"Look around you, Dragonborn," Miraak intoned. "Apocrypha is falling apart without Hermaeus Mora. When Scourge fell into the waters of Apocrypha, it banished Mora to the Void. Since this is Mora's realm, it cannot exist without him."

A small part of Marcus died inside at the thought of all the lost knowledge he hadn't been able to take with him. He dug furiously into his pack, searching for the Black Book, as several of the surrounding arches tumbled to the waters below. The tenable real estate of the Summit was shrinking.

"This had better work, Miraak," he growled, "or we're both screwed."

"Only you, Dragonborn," Miraak said sadly, genuine regret in his eyes. "Not for me."

Marcus whipped his head up. "What? Why not?"

"I did not come to Apocrypha with my mind alone, as you did," Miraak pointed out. "My body is here as well. I cannot return through the Black Book."

Marcus considered this for only a few heartbeats as the Void loomed closer. It could not now be more than a mile away, and was swiftly closing in on the rapidly crumbling Summit.

It was tempting to leave Miraak here, as the First Dragonborn had intended to leave Tamsyn in Aetherius to get himself home. But he hadn't done that. Tamsyn's persuasive nature was such that Miraak had repented at the eleventh hour and confessed what harm that would do. And as his dear wife had pointed out, no one deserved the fate that awaited Miraak if Marcus left him here.

"Then I guess this is it," he said solemnly, holding out his hand for Miraak to shake. The Atmoran, unfamiliar with the custom, stared blankly at the Last Dragonborn, but he seemed to understand that this was 'good-bye.' Marcus let his hand drop.

"I regret some of the choices I have made in my life, Marcus of Whiterun," the First Dragonborn said quietly, above the cacophony of destruction around them. "Most of all, I regret not getting to know Akatosh better. When you speak to him again, tell him…" He broke off and his throat worked. "Tell him…I'm sorry."

"Tell him yourself," Marcus smiled. _"NAHL DAAL VUS!"_

The warping portal engulfed a startled Miraak, and Marcus found himself suddenly alone. Frantically he found the Black Book in his pack and prepared to open it alone. A violent tremor shook the Summit and Marcus was thrown to the ground. _Waking Dreams_ fell from his grasp and skittered across the diminished area of the Summit as another part fell away into the Void.

More terrified than he had been at any time in his life, Marcus scrambled to get to his feet, but now the temblors roiled one after the other, and he had to crawl to move. Stones from another arch fell, and he rolled as quickly as he was able to avoid getting smashed and pinned under them. Casting his eyes around for the Book, he saw the Void was almost upon him. The horizon was completely filled with blackness, and only a narrow circle of green Apocryphal sky remained above him. In its dim light, he saw the Book teetering on the fraying edge of the Summit. As he watched in horror, it seemed that the Void was _eating_ the edges of land upon which he lay, devouring it almost – he might have said in Gaea – pixel by pixel. Marcus made a Herculean effort to grab the Book before it could dissolve away into the nothing.

His hand closed on the cover and he latched on as tightly as the grasping pincers would have done. He couldn't get to his feet, and the Void was far too close for comfort. He could feel the pull on the essence of his being as it attempted to devour all in its influence.

Clutching the Book tightly to his chest, Marcus tumbled to the center of what remained of the Summit, as close to the ice-crowned pool as he could get. Throwing his back against it, he struggled to gasp in whatever oxygen was left as he opened the Book with trembling fingers, praying to Akatosh that it still had some power left in it.

He almost wept when the greenish-black tentacles reached out and pierced him. He didn't even mind this time.

* * *

"Marcus! Marcus! Please wake up!"

He heard Azura's voice from a long distance and cracked his eyes open. Blurry at first, the shapes around him solidified into the familiar. Azura, Neloth and Talvas surrounded him. He was back at Tel Mithryn. He sat up, but reeled as the world spun around him.

"Easy now," Talvas said kindly. "You've been through quite a lot. Here, drink this." A potion was thrust into his hand and he drank it without question.

The sensation of well-being coursed through him and he looked around again.

"Azura?" he said tentatively.

"Right here, Marcus," she assured him from her squatting potion next to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The Bosmer mage tinkled a laugh. Though she had removed the face-paint upon returning to Solstheim and Tel Mithryn, he could still see the faint tint of green where she usually painted it against her ruddy skin.

"You can ask me that, after sending your wife and I back and staying behind with Miraak?" she smiled briefly. Then she grew serious. "Miraak…Marcus, what happened back there?"

"I'll tell you later," he promised. "Right now, I'd like to head back to Miraak's Temple."

"You'll tell me _now,_ Marcus Dragonborn!" Azura stormed, anger, fear and frustration warring for dominance on the Bosmer girl's face. Tamriel came far too close to losing its greatest hero, she knew, and it terrified her.

Marcus relented. Azura had been his staunchest companion for practically the entire adventure. She'd had his back more times than he cared to think about. He owed her.

"You're right," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

Azura's frown cleared, and she settled into a nearby chair as Marcus told both her and Neloth in detail what had occurred at the Summit, as well as the nature of his wife.

"Miraak told me," Azura nodded. "I understand now why you kept that from me. It's just the sort of thing Mora would have tried to extract from me." She shuddered.

"Indeed," Neloth mused. "I would not have believed such a thing was possible. Even here in Solstheim, we have heard how gifted the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold is. But none could have known, could have expected, that your wife is truly…unique."

"She is that," Marcus chuckled fondly. Thinking of Tamsyn sent a pang of guilt through him, and he tapped the ear bud.

"Tamsyn, my love, are you there?"

Everyone in the room heard her jubilant cry. It took him several minutes to calm her down so they could speak.

"I'll head back home soon," he promised. "I need to check on something really quick."

"Marcus," Tamsyn began quietly. "Did Miraak…?"

"That's one of the things I need to check on, my love," he told her. "I'll see you soon. Will you be at the College or Heljarchen?"

"The College," she confirmed. "Something…happened here while I was gone."

"Oh?"

"It can wait," she replied. "Go do what you need to do. And Marcus?"

"Yes, love?"

"Please thank that Bosmer girl with you, for everything."

Marcus smiled. "Well, you can thank her yourself. She wants to come back with me and rejoin the College. Talk to Enthir. He'll fill you in on her."

"Okay…" Tamsyn's voice was filled with curiosity, but she promised to talk to her Chief Advisor soon before signing off.

"Fascinating," Neloth murmured, examining Marcus' ear bud. "Long distance instantaneous communication. Did your wife invent this?"

Marcus recoiled. He hadn't even known the Telvanni wizard was that close.

"Yes," he answered shortly. "And please don't sneak up on me like that again! Azura, are you ready?"

"Whenever you are," she replied cheerfully.

They made their way outside where Marcus called for Norokah. It was the middle of the night, and Masser had already set. Secunda bathed the surrounding sands with her silvery glow as the ancient dragon landed gracefully and waited patiently for them to mount before rising into the night sky. Marcus directed the dragon to take them to Miraak's Temple, and in a few short minutes they were flying over the area.

Two elder dragons roared out a challenge as they approached, and Marcus and Azura both recognized Relonikiv and Kruzikrel, perched on the arches of the ruins. In the center courtyard a lone figure stood, facing the Tree Stone.

Norokah boomed out their arrival, and the two dragons loyal to their _thuri_ backed down. Norokah set down just outside the Temple, and Marcus and Azura hurriedly dismounted and made their way inside. As they entered, Miraak, his mask firmly in place, roared out, _"GOL HAH!"_

"What's he doing?" Azura wondered.

"Releasing the Tree Stone," Marcus smiled, tensed and ready. He needn't have worried. Without a conduit to Apocrypha, no Lurker could come through. The Dragonborn relaxed. He and Azura descended the steps to speak with the master of the Temple.

Miraak removed his mask as they approached. He looked around at the ruin that had once been his home, millennia ago.

"So much happened here, when I lived here," he murmured. "So many deaths at my hands. Some were even dragons. I was so…arrogant." The humble tone was completely unlike the man who had once sworn to bring all of Solstheim once more under his power. He turned to face Marcus, a frown furrowing his brow.

"You cheated again, Dragonborn," he accused.

Marcus grinned. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he replied, unrepentant. "It got you home, didn't it?"

"Home," Miraak mused, looking around once more. "This is my home no longer, Dragonborn. I can no longer remain where the evidence of my hubris is on display for all to see. Let this place fall into ruin. Let my name be forgotten by the Skaal and by Solstheim. Your wife once suggested I come back to Skyrim, and while at the time I rejected that very generous offer, now I am more inclined to accept. Besides," he added. "I have a promise to keep. I must make a pilgrimage to a shrine of Akatosh, and beg forgiveness."

Marcus nodded. "Where will you go after that?" _Call me cynical,_ he criticized himself, _but I just want to make sure I know where he is._

"High Hrothgar," Miraak responded. "If Akatosh gives me His blessing, I will become a Greybeard."

"But first you'd have to grow one," Azura pointed out pertly.

The Atmoran threw his head back and laughed, loud and long. "I would indeed, young Azura, and that would be an accomplishment!" He rubbed his smooth-shaven chin thoughtfully. "As nearly as I can remember, facial hair never did grow well on me." He chuckled again before becoming more serious. "I owe you my life, Dragonborn, and the second chance that comes with it. It is a debt I may never be able to repay."

"I don't know about that," Marcus drawled. "You still know more about the _rotmulag_ than I will ever know. I may come up to High Hrothgar to study with you for a while, when everything settles down."

"I look forward to that…Marcus," Miraak smiled. He looked down at the gold mask in his hand; the one that symbolized his connection to Hermaeus Mora, now banished to the Void. He threw the mask away from himself. "I will never wear that again," he vowed.

"You shouldn't leave it here for just anyone to pick up, though," Azura cautioned.

"Take it then, Azura, with my compliments," Miraak replied, seeing the logic in this. "Keep it as a reminder never to believe you are so powerful that someone cannot bring you down."

Azura nodded and trotted over to retrieve the mask, tucking it into her pack.

"Kruzikrel!" Miraak called. The dragon stirred himself from his perch and glided down to the courtyard floor. Miraak mounted him and turned to face the two companions.

"Farewell," he bade them. "Until we meet again."

Kruzikrel kicked up a dust storm as he lifted them both into the night sky. Relonikiv followed after them, and they were quickly swallowed up in the darkness.

 _At least it's not the darkness of the Void,_ Marcus shuddered.

"Where to now?" Azura asked eagerly.

"The Skaal Village," Marcus answered, having already decided to return there. Frea and her people deserved to know what had happened.

* * *

It was very early in the morning when Norokah landed outside the Skaal Village, near the Wind Stone. Marcus and Azura walked up to the small settlement and saw that everything looked to be back to normal. The villagers were up early, going about their daily tasks. Many called out in greeting to them as they approached. Frea met them halfway across the common area and led them to the small hut which she once shared with her father, the Shaman.

"I can feel it," she exulted once they were inside. "The Tree Stone is free again! The Oneness of the land is restored. Does that mean... is it over? Is Miraak defeated?"

Azura threw a look at Marcus as if to say, _You tell her._

"Storn didn't die for nothing," he prevaricated. "Miraak will never bother Solstheim again."

Frea eyed him keenly. "That means Miraak is still alive somewhere," she stated flatly. Marcus gave an inward sigh of frustration. The woman wasn't the new Shaman of the Skaal for nothing!

"Hermaeus Mora killed your father, remember," Marcus said patiently. "It wasn't Miraak."

"And besides," Azura put in, "Hermaeus Mora has been banished to the Void."

" _What?"_ The stunned look on Frea's face was priceless, and Marcus privately felt it was worth Azura blurting out something he had perversely wanted to keep quiet. It wasn't that he felt any loyalty to Mora or his worshippers. He simply didn't want his name connected to it. He realized it was a foolish wish, but he couldn't help himself. When it came down to the nugget, Marcus was an intensely private person who really wasn't looking for fame and notoriety.

"Can this be possible?" Frea breathed with liquid eyes. "Is it really true?"

Marcus gave a reluctant nod. "It's true, Frea. Mora won't bother the Skaal for a long, long time to come."

"Oh, joyful day!" Frea cried, letting the tears fall unhindered. "We must tell Fanari Strong-Voice at once! All of the Skaal must hear this wondrous news!"

Nothing would do after that but for Marcus and Azura to present themselves to the Skaal Chieftain once more and tell their story with the entire village in attendance. The celebrations lasted long into the night, and both Marcus and Azura were inducted into the tribe as honorary Skaal. The gift of the hooded parka was very welcome, he had to admit. He'd coveted one long enough. Azura put hers on immediately, and a blissful expression crossed her face as she snuggled into the furs.

They left the Skaal Village the next day, after Marcus cleared his lungs of collected ash, and contacted Tamsyn to let her know what had occurred. Azura waited for him outside the mead hall where they had spent the night.

"I'm glad he's seeking forgiveness," the Arch-Mage said, and he could hear the smile in her voice through the ear bud. "It means he wasn't just blowing smoke up my backside."

"And it's such a nice backside, too," Marcus leered, making his wife giggle. "I should be back sometime today."

"Marcus…" Tamsyn began hesitantly. "I spoke with Enthir, about Azura."

"Yes?" he replied flatly. "Is there a problem?" There would be, he thought, if Enthir glossed over his complicity in the circumstances that had gotten Azura banned from the college.

"No, not really," Tamsyn said hastily. "Of course, I'm very happy to have her come here. Divines know we need all the master-level mages we can get on our side. No, it's Enthir. He's threatening to leave the College if Azura comes back."

"What?" Marcus was shocked. Not have that scheming rogue at the College? He was Tamsyn's right-hand-man, and everyone knew it.

"He says he treated her horribly, and she deserves to return, to finish her education. Although from what I've seen," Tamsyn chuckled, "she could probably teach Faralda a thing or two about Destruction. But Enthir doesn't want her to feel self-conscious with him around, so he's volunteering to leave to allow her to come back."

"That idiot!" Marcus snorted. "Doesn't he realize she's in love with him?"

Over the ear bud he heard his wife gasp. "Are you sure about that, Marcus?"

"I've got eyes and ears, my love," he grinned, delighted to have figured out something before his wife. "Every time she mentions him there's this look of despair and longing in her eyes, even while her words about him are scathing. He hurt her, but he never acknowledged that hurt. And now he wants to run away and hurt her more. That's not going to sit well with Azura, I promise you."

"I see…" Tamsyn mused. "Marcus, my love, you may have just solved both our dilemmas. I'll have a few words with Enthir myself."

Marcus gave a mental chuckle. That tone didn't bode well for Enthir.

They signed off, and Marcus was still grinning as he rejoined Azura, waiting outside for him in her new parka.

"You're going to need that thing at Winterhold," he joked.

"Is that where we're going next?" she asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Marcus nodded. "I want to go home."

"Dragonborn," Frea began, as they gathered their packs. "May I have a word with you?"

"Of course, Frea," Marcus smiled. "What's on your mind?"

"I know it is not my place," the Nord Shaman began tentatively, "but... may I offer a word of advice... of warning?"

"Warning?" Marcus frowned. "About what?"

"As shaman of the Skaal, I am charged with the spiritual well-being of my people," Frea explained. "While you are not of the Skaal, you are Skaal-friend, and so I give you this warning: Herma-Mora forced you to serve him in order to defeat Miraak. I know that Miraak yet lives; from what you told us last night, he is a reformed man. I hope you are right. I also know that Herma-Mora is banished, now, but there are other Daedra out there. Do not let them lure you further down the path of darkness. The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose. Do not forget that."

Marcus smiled warmly. "You needn't worry about that, Frea," he assured her. "My soul already belongs to Akatosh. And my heart belongs to my wife, Tamsyn. I would never do anything to make her question giving her love to me."

Frea returned his smile, relieved. "Then walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend."

Azura and Marcus bade the Skaal farewell and had Norokah take them to Tel Mithryn first, where Azura packed up all her belongings. Marcus stared in dismay at the number of trunks.

"I thought you said you didn't keep much," he protested. "I don't know how we're going to strap these onto Norokah, even if he'd let me do it!"

"Relax," Azura giggled. "It's not as bad as you think."

"Well, unless you have a transportation portal stuck away here somewhere," Marcus drawled, "I don't see how we're going to get all that to Raven Rock, let alone Winterhold."

"I am not a Master of Alteration for nothing, Marcus Dragonborn," Azura sniffed imperiously. "Stand back and give me a little room."

Talvas, at a nearby table, grabbed his papers and swiftly moved to the other side of the chamber. Memories of his shrunken Dwemer dynamo core waltzed through his head.

Azura made a series of wide, sweeping passes with her hands, building up the magicka, before slamming them down and releasing the energy upon her trunks. To Marcus' amazement, they began to shrink in size until they were no larger than a deck of cards – very thick decks, admittedly, but much more convenient for travel.

Neloth looked up from the book he was perusing. The corner of his mouth lifted before he returned to reading.

Marcus couldn't keep from grinning. "You have _got_ to teach Tamsyn that one! It took us four days to ship everything up to Heljarchen from Whiterun!"

Azura chuckled as she tossed the mini-chests into a sack and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm ready!" she announced.

They bade farewell to Talvas, Elynea and Varona, and thanked Neloth for all his assistance. Marcus gave him the gift of all the Black Books they had collected.

Neloth accepted them graciously. "Although with no connection now to old Hermaeus Mora," he added, "they are little more than curiosities. Still, it will be a nice display on my shelf, don't you think?"

Norokah took them to Raven Rock, where Marcus spent the rest of the day packing up the things he wished to take back to Skyrim. In a blanket-bound bundle, he secured the pieces of Alduin's Bane.

"Don't you want to put that in a trunk?" Azura suggested. "I can shrink it down for you, then."

"Ah, no, not this," Marcus replied, shaking his head. "I'll hang onto this myself."

Azura shrugged and performed her shrinking spell – or as Marcus privately called it, Azura's Spell of Mass Reduction – on the rest of the Dragonborn's belongings. These went into a separate sack, and Marcus affixed it to his backpack.

"Norokah," he addressed the dragon, once they were outside, "I wish to return to Skyrim. Will you carry us there, or do you wish to remain in Solstheim?"

"My _thuri_ asks me?" Norokah blinked. "Why do you not command instead?"

"Because I believe in being polite," Marcus replied. "Besides, demanding and commanding break the spirit. You are _dov,_ and while I can beat you in a fair fight, I have no wish to subjugate you. That was Alduin's way. It is not mine."

Norokah studied the Dragonborn for a long moment. "And you will allow me to remain here, in this place I call home, unfettered and unhindered?" the dragon asked warily.

"As long as you leave the _joore_ alone," Marcus said. "If I hear you've been terrorizing the countryside, I'm going to come back here and kick your scaly hide… _again!_ "

Norokah considered this for several moments, before shaking his head in the dragon's way of shrugging. "It is a small price to pay, to stay here and be free," he replied. "But if you wish, I will carry you to Keizaal, then return home."

"That works for me," Marcus replied, grinning.

* * *

The trip back to Winterhold took about three hours, with Norokah fighting a head wind the entire way. At length, directed by Marcus, he landed on the tower of the College of Winterhold directly above the Arch-Mage's quarters. Tamsyn, alerted by Marcus beforehand, was waiting for them, and flew into his arms, bursting into tears as she did so. Norokah launched himself into the air with a murmured "Farewell, _Dovahkiin,_ " leaving an uncomfortable Azura to stand awkwardly alone as the Dragonborn and his wife were finally reunited after weeks apart. The battle at the Summit, Azura knew, hardly counted.

Tamsyn quickly got herself under control, however, and greeted Azura warmly.

"I'm so glad to finally meet with you," she smiled as she wiped her eyes with the cloth Marcus produced from his inner tunic. "I don't know how I can thank you enough for helping Marcus, but you are most welcome here."

"There won't be any problems?" Azura asked nervously. "I mean, about what happened before?"

"What happened before occurred before my time here," Tamsyn said firmly. "There's just one little detail to clear up regarding that matter. Enthir?" She turned to the doorway leading down, and Marcus saw now that Enthir had been lurking just inside. It was a rather cowed-looking Enthir, completely out of character for the Bosmer scholar who – in Marcus' experience – seemed utterly unflappable.

Azura stiffened, and Enthir crept out, as if expecting her to blast him into a million pieces. "Uh, hello, Azura," he half-chuckled. "You're looking well."

Tamsyn pulled Marcus towards the door, even as he craned his head back to observe. Tamsyn batted his chestplate lightly. "Leave them alone!" she scolded, tugging him through with her and closing it firmly behind them.

"So…uh…it looks like you'll be staying here at Winterhold," Enthir ventured.

"Yes," Azura nodded. "The Arch-Mage has graciously allowed me to return." She didn't look at him, but instead stared out over the town of Winterhold. She had heard about the collapse, of course, but now – even seventy-five years after the catastrophe – she was appalled at the damage. There was barely anything left of the once-thriving port city.

"Yes…um…she told me," Enthir murmured, unable to take his eyes off her. She had reapplied the two stripes of green face paint earlier in the day. Enthir doubted he had ever seen her without them, but he didn't care. She was still one of the most beautiful Bosmer girls he had ever seen.

They fell into an awkward silence. Enthir's throat worked to bring up the words he knew he should say; Azura stared sadly down at the town.

"Were you there that day?" she asked, inclining her head slightly towards the ruined city.

"What?" he blinked. "Oh, uh, no, I wasn't," he replied. "I was away…doing some business for the Arch-Mage."

"For Deneth?" Azura exclaimed, surprised. She turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised. She hadn't thought Arch-Mage Deneth had lived so long. He was only human, after all.

"No, for Savos," Enthir replied. "He became Arch-Mage after Deneth."

"Oh, right," Azura shrugged. She turned back to the view out over Skyrim, but Enthir touched her arm, before letting his hand fall away.

"Azura, I—" he began.

"Yes?"

The Bosmer scholar's face worked for several heartbeats. "I'm sorry!" he blurted, as though the words had been pried from him. "I'm sorry about…about…everything, really. I never should have involved you in that whole Velekh Sain debacle. It was only because I wanted Treoy and Balwen to accept me into their group. I thought that by finding the contraband they needed, I'd be able to ingratiate myself with them. I didn't think it would actually work, and I never meant for you to become involved – or get hurt! Gods! I never wanted that! I just wanted…I wanted you to like me, and to think I was…important…" His voice faltered. It sounded bad, even to his ears, and he mumbled lamely, "I'm sorry, Azura. I truly am sorry."

He didn't look at her; he couldn't bring himself to do so, but when she didn't say anything for a long moment, he dared to steal a glance at her from under his eyelashes. She wasn't looking at the scenery this time; she was looking at him. And smiling. She stepped closer and cupped one hand to the side of his head – the side that had never grown back the hair he had lost on that terrible day.

"Was that _really_ so hard to say?" she asked gently.

He blew out a breath even as his heart gave a leap inside his chest, beating a crazy rhythm against his ribcage. "You have no idea!" he chuckled weakly. "Azura, I know that I messed up in a grand way, but I promise you—"

She chuckled and put her hand over his mouth. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Enthir," she smiled. "Just be aware that anything you say right now, I will remember for a _long_ time."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that!" he grinned. "Then let me start with this." He gathered her into his arms. Putting his lips close to her delicately tapered ear, he whispered, "I…love…you."

* * *

One floor below, another reunion was taking place. It was quite some time before the Arch-Mage was available to the rest of the College. Lying in the great double-bed together, Marcus held Tamsyn close against his heart. He noticed the new lock of white hair that tumbled down the other side of her face, to match the first one she had earned by bringing him back to life at Skuldafn Temple, before they had gone to Sovngarde to destroy Alduin. He had no doubt in his mind how she had acquired it.

"I have missed you so much," Tamsyn breathed, her heart still thumping wildly from their lovemaking.

"And I've been terrified I might lose you," Marcus confessed, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. "Whatever possessed you to read that infernal Book?"

Tamsyn was crestfallen, but snuggled closer to her husband and told him everything that had occurred – even regarding Septimus Signus.

"I can't say I feel sorry for the old coot," Marcus frowned. "That guy was nuttier than Grandma's fruitcake. To know that he was a follower of Hermaeus Mora doesn't improve my opinion of him."

"He didn't deserve to die like that, though," Tamsyn pointed out. "I still feel guilty—"

"Don't," Marcus said firmly. "Miraak was right. The old codger brought it on himself by making a Daedra's deal. And speaking of Miraak, did he stop by here?"

"No," Tamsyn replied. "Did he make it out of Apocrypha? Did you two Shout each other back?"

"Uh, no," Marcus said dourly. "It didn't work out quite the way we thought it would." He told her then everything that had happened, and Tamsyn shuddered against him, realizing how close she had come to losing the one man she had ever truly loved in both her lives.

"Let's not ever do that again, okay?" she whispered, planting a line of kisses down his jaw.

"Agreed," Marcus replied wholeheartedly, and sought her lips with his own. Words were not necessary for a long time after that.

* * *

Much later that evening, Tamsyn and Marcus, Azura and Enthir were seated with Tolfdir in the great Hall of the Elements. Tables had been set up here and a banquet had been prepared. The entire College had turned out for the feast as the Arch-Mage was welcomed back to the mortal realm. Conspicuously absent – at least, to Tamsyn – was Colette Marence, the Restoration Master. The Arch-Mage had learned of the Breton woman's sacrifice upon her return to Nirn.

"No one knew what she intended," Master Tolfdir said sadly. "I wasn't even aware she knew such powerful magic. And to have given up her life's energy to save your life, my dear, well…I don't know what to say."

The few personal mementos Colette had left behind were presented to a tearful Tamsyn, who spent the better part of the next hour in private mourning in her quarters with only her husband present to comfort her. It seemed only fitting that during the numerous speeches of well-wishes and congratulations for her return that Tamsyn recognized the sacrifice made on her behalf by Colette Marence.

"It does mean, however, that we are in need of a new Restoration Master," she added. "And after speaking with Azura, who has been so instrumental in helping my husband, the Dragonborn, successfully navigate Apocrypha, and aiding him in banishing Hermaeus Mora, I feel that she would be a most welcome addition to the College."

"Wait a minute!"

The gruff voice surprised everyone. Urag-gro-Shub stood from his place. "You mean you're going to let someone involved in the worst scandal this College has known come back and take over for Colette?"

Murmurs rippled around the Hall. Tamsyn didn't back down.

"You raised no objections, I understand, when Enthir was allowed to return," she said drily.

"What?" the Orc Librarian blinked. It was well known that Enthir was often able to 'acquire' items that were difficult to find. Many of these were rare texts thought to be 'lost'. Tamsyn herself had retrieved many of these types of books for the old archiver; some of them had been in private collections before she had 'liberated' them. She had no doubt Enthir had done the same.

"Oh, well…it's just…" Urag blustered.

"Whatever happened then was not Azura's fault," Tamsyn said severely. "I want that clearly understood. Even Enthir's part in that episode was secondary. The blame – if there is any to be laid – lies firmly with the four students who were doing something completely unpermitted and dangerous, and who paid for that with their lives. Now, we'll have no more talk about this subject."

The rest of the evening passed in a much more enjoyable manner. Azura was welcomed by the rest of the staff. Even Urag grudgingly acknowledged her place on the roster with a growled, "You're sure you know Restoration?"

"I completed the Master level decades ago," Azura nodded modestly. "Master Neloth finished my education."

"Neloth?" Urag blinked. "The Telvanni wizard in Solstheim?" At Azura's confirming nod, Urag gave a toothy smile. "Well, now. That makes a difference!" He had no further objections after that.

The following day, Marcus and Tamsyn climbed to the top of the Arch-Mage's tower once more, where Marcus called Odahviing. The great red dragon arrived after several minutes and took them over the mountains of Winterhold and the Pale to Heljarchen Hall, where Lydia and Gregor waited outside for them.

Gregor held the twins in his burly arms, and Lydia wrestled with a squirming bundle of dark hair and chubby limbs.

"Mommy! Daddy! O'ving!"

The dragon sighed. "How long does it take for your young to speak properly?" he complained good-naturedly to Marcus. The Dragonborn laughed.

"It'll probably take another year, old friend," he replied.

"And will you teach her the language of the _dov_?" the dragon asked.

Marcus nodded vigorously as Tamsyn swept their daughter into her arms and covered her with kisses.

"Oh, yes," Marcus smiled. "Absolutely!"

Odahviing chuckled deeply as he launched himself into the air.

"I sent the invitations out to the heads of the Alliance as you requested," Lydia informed Marcus, taking a fussy Kirsten from her husband and bouncing the baby on her hip. "They've all replied positively, except for Madanach, who can't get away right now."

"Oh?" Marcus inquired, lifting an eyebrow. "Did he say why not?" The 'loose cannon,' as Marcus privately referred to the Reach King, was a constant source of concern for him. Madanach was not completely loyal to the Alliance, he knew. The old man only wanted his land back and to have the Reach become an independent Province of Skyrim.

"He said there has been heightened Thalmor activity out there lately," Lydia reported. "They found an enclave of Necromancers back in the hills with the leader being an Altmer. Someone who called herself Zenosha. She escaped before they could capture her."

Marcus frowned. The previous interim Jarl of Markarth, Nepos, had been assassinated only two years before by murderers disguised as Stormcloak soldiers. The assassins had been killed, and the current interim Jarl, Esmerelda, had used Necromancy to interrogate the souls. The only thing positive to come from that was the knowledge that the two had gone AWOL before being possessed by someone or something that had directed them to do the deed.

"Hmm…" Marcus mused. "Well, now we have a name. I'll speak to Madanach myself tonight. See if he can't get someone like Kaie or Borkul to take over for him. I'd like to hear this directly from him, and I think he deserves to know what's been going on over on this side of Skyrim."

"Very good, Thane," Lydia bowed. Kirsten drooled. "These letters came for you as well, while you were away." She handed him a packet of sealed documents from a nearby table.

Marcus took them from her. "Tamsyn and I will look over these tonight," he said. "Thanks, Lydia. We'll fill you and Gregor in on what happened after supper."

"I'd better get to chopping up some wood for the fire, then," Gregor commented, setting Korst down inside the indoor playpen. The baby boy grabbed a stuffed mammoth and began chewing on its snout. "That's it, my boy!" Gregor chuckled. "Eat your mammoth snout! It will help you grow big and strong, like your papa!" His eyes twinkled merrily, and little Korst giggled at his daddy.

Marcus chortled as well, though inwardly he gagged. He'd never liked mammoth snout, though some – like Gregor – swore it helped build strong muscles. He just couldn't get over the fact that mucus had passed through it not long before it was cooked. "I'll help you, Gregor," he said now as he handed off the letter packet to Tamsyn. "If we're to be expecting guests in the next day or so, we'd better lay in a supply."

The letters were not all good news, Marcus learned. Madanach's second-in-command, his daughter Kaie, wrote a detailed report about the necromancer they had almost captured, but who had slipped through their fingers.

" _We're pretty sure she's the one who enthralled those two Stormcloak soldiers that killed Nepos,"_ Kaie wrote. _"Da was furious that she got away, but even Maiara couldn't find where she'd gone after the skirmish. She's out there somewhere and will probably lay low for a while until we all forget about her. Da says that's not bloody likely. We'll keep alert out here. Contact Da if you have any questions."_

Marcus did, but there was little Madanach could add that Kaie hadn't included in her report.

"We heard there were reports of necromantic activity near Ragnvald," the Reach King said, over the ear bud. Marcus had turned up the volume, so Tamsyn could hear him as well. "Ordinarily that wouldn't bother most of us," Madanach chuckled, "but the citizens of Markarth aren't all Reachfolk, and they were putting pressure on Essie to investigate. She sent word to me, and I sent a team down to investigate it. Borkul led the team."

Marcus nodded unconsciously. Borkul was a formidable fighter, as he well knew, and could be trusted to bring back any information they uncovered without embellishments.

"What did Borkul find, Madanach?" Tamsyn called. She still had not been able to create an earbud that would allow more than two people to converse, and since she wasn't wearing the one they were listening to now, she had to raise her voice a bit to be heard on the other end.

"That's just it, Arch-Mage," Madanach said. "He didn't find much of anything. A few signs that altars were being used and sacrifices being made, but nothing that would lead anyone to think it was a well thought-out and organized battle plan. It's like whoever was using the place knew we were coming and cleared out."

Marcus frowned. "And you think it was this Zenosha person?" he asked.

"Pretty sure it was," Madanach said confidently. "I'm sure you've read Kaie's report already," he went on. "One of our youngsters at Bthardamz went missing. We sent out a search party to find the boy and stumbled across a small group of necromancers in the middle of a sacrifice."

"Oh, no!" Tamsyn breathed, dismayed. "Were they in time?"

There was a brief silence. "No," the Reach King admitted, and they both heard the weight of grief in his voice. "The patrol was led by a team of Briarhearts, who tore into the mages ferociously. They killed all but one who slipped through their guard. She must have had some proficiency with Illusion magic, to be able to escape unseen and unheard by a pair of Briarhearts!"

"How did you learn her name?" Marcus asked.

"She left everything behind to make her escape," Madanach replied. "Including her journal. Very interesting reading. I'm sending it to you after Maiara and I are done with it. We might be able to track her down, using her own personal artifact to trace her."

"Let me know the moment you find anything out," Marcus said. "I want to know if she has any connection to the Dominion, or just has leanings that way."

"I'll keep you posted," Madanach promised, and signed off.

Marcus and Tamsyn were both quiet for several minutes, each with their own thoughts.

"I could try to scry," Tamsyn said. "But I doubt I'd be able to learn much more than Madanach and his people are able to do. The Matriarchs can tap into the Old Magicks in a way I never learned."

"We'd best leave it to them," Marcus nodded. "Losing one of their own makes this personal for them."

Tamsyn sighed. "I feel so sad for the parents," she said helplessly. "But you're probably right. Whoever this Zenosha is, she's made a horrible mistake angering the Reachfolk."

"That's a mistake that will hopefully work in our favor, if she's working for the Dominion," Marcus rumbled.

The other letters were reports from the other Alliance camps. Galmar reported that another enclave of Snow Elves had been found and liberated from their Falmer captives, where they had been abused and enslaved. Serana Volkihar had guided them to the Forgotten Vale herself. A letter co-written by Gelebor and Sylfaen assured the Dragonborn that their kin had been welcomed and were being restored to health. Sylfaen also reported that the Falmer in the Vale were now able to tolerate limited exposure to sunlight, and were making efforts to learn words in the common tongue.

" _I hardly know how to thank you for all you have done,"_ Sylfaen wrote. _"I never thought I would see another of my kin again, yet through your efforts I have found one I could love. Auri-El has blessed me in this, yet my happiness does not end there. In the enclave of our people recently liberated, I found my brother Vyndarion, whom I thought long lost all those millennia ago. For this, I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay. Gelebor and I have pledged ourselves to each other for what remains of our lives. There will be a small ceremony in the Chantry in two months' time, when Vyndarion has recovered enough to officiate. I hope you will be able to be present."_

"I wouldn't miss that for the world!" Tamsyn exclaimed delightedly, her thoughts already racing ahead to decide what to wear.

Benor's wife, Amalie, had written to inform them that training with the dragons had stagnated, and if Marcus could come and 'light a fire under the dragons,' it would be appreciated. She also cautioned him against saying anything to her husband; Benor was struggling to be worthy of his position as Grand Master of Dragonpeak Eyrie, as the former Skuldafn Temple had been re-named, and would be embarrassed to think he had failed in this endeavor entrusted to him. Marcus knew he would have to proceed with diplomacy yet be firm where the dragons were concerned. It was a delicate, two-edged sword he would have to ride.

General Tullius announced that he was being recalled to Cyrodiil, now that the Civil War in Skyrim had been annulled, and his presence as Military Governor was no longer needed.

" _You have peace now,"_ he wrote, _"for however long that will last. And you have a High King and High Queen to govern yourselves once more. I know Ulfric and Elisif are already talking about improving relations with the Empire – something I would not have thought possible even as recently as a year ago – and along with that is what to do regarding the Reach. I'll let them fill you in on those details. To be honest, I've spent almost more time in Skyrim than I did in Cyrodiil. It will seem strange going home to a country I haven't lived in for more than two decades, but I am, after all, an Imperial, and Cyrodiil is my home. I'm putting Hadvar in charge of the general operations, and Rikke, of course, will be taking my place as Imperial Liaison. If you need to reach me, she'll know how."_

"But he _can't_ go!" Tamsyn cried. "We need him _here!"_

"He's an Imperial General, dear," Marcus pointed out. "He has to go where the Emperor tells him to go."

"He should retire, then," Tamsyn pouted, "and stay on as a military consultant."

Marcus chuckled. "I like that idea. We should suggest it to him."

Ulfric and Elisif's letter was more pragmatic. While they expressed genuine regret at losing the military genius of General Tullius, Ulfric, at least, was eager to prove that Skyrim could now govern herself.

" _We won't forget the service he has done for our country,"_ Ulfric wrote, _"the years of the Civil War notwithstanding, but Skyrim must be able to stand alone without Imperial support if we are to call ourselves Nords."_

"Uh-oh," Marcus frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. Seems like Ulfric is backsliding. What does Elisif say?" he asked his wife, who was perusing the High Queen's letter.

"Well, she says she's going to miss Tullius, that he's always been kind to her. She thinks it's wonderful that Rikke will be taking over as liaison for the Empire. She also says – oh my goodness! That was quick!"

"What?"

Tamsyn giggled. "She's with child – _already!"_

"It's only been, what, two weeks since the wedding?" Marcus protested. "How could she—" He broke off and face-palmed himself. "No, wait, don't answer that. No wonder they moved the wedding up!"

Tamsyn burst out laughing. "I guess I'll have to pay a visit and make sure everything is going alright for her," she chuckled.

"But what about Ulfric?" Marcus insisted.

"What about him?" Tamsyn asked. "I think you're reading too much into it, darling. Elisif will have him wrapped around her finger, the further along in her pregnancy she gets. He would do anything for her, even if it means learning the foreign art of diplomacy. Ulfric knows what's at stake here, my love. He knows the Empire cannot withstand another assault from the Dominion, and he knows that Skyrim certainly can't. When it comes to negotiating alliances, Elisif is far better at that than Ulfric. I wouldn't worry about it."

"I hope you're right," Marcus brooded. He went back to Ulfric's letter.

" _As for what to do about the Reach,"_ the High King wrote, _"Elisif and I agree about this. We cannot secede those lands to Madanach unless we have a firm commitment from him to come to our aid against the Dominion when we call for it. That is the very least we will accept. We would both prefer not turning the Reach over at all until after we crush the Dominion. And speaking of this, Dragonborn, the question arises: when will we strike? Our troops are becoming restless. We are Nords, after all, and all this training is building up an eagerness in them to prove themselves on the field of battle. If we do not strike soon, our momentum will be lost. I await your reply."_

Tamsyn looked troubled. "He has a point, Marcus," she sighed. "How long do we wait? The Dominion can hold out forever, until we're all long gone. We can't let all this effort come to nothing."

"I know," he said, blowing out an exasperated breath. "But the key is the dragons, and I don't have them on my side yet. Not all of them."

Tamsyn shrugged. "Are you the Dragonborn or not?" she asked. He glared at her. "Well?" she added, lifting an eyebrow.

Marcus sighed again. "Maybe I need to find Miraak and talk to him," he admitted.

"Do you know where he is?" his wife asked.

"No," Marcus gave a faint smile. "But that's never stopped me before."

"He doesn't have one of our ear buds," she pointed out.

Marcus shrugged. "He's Dragonborn, like me," he said simply. "The dragons will know where he is."

He enjoyed seeing her face-palm herself.

* * *

Relonikiv and Kruzikrel had flown wing-tip to wing-tip to carry Miraak back to Skyrim. Even from this high up, he could see the sprawling city that was Windhelm, ancient and weathered, on an estuary where no city had been in his time. He decided not to trust walking into civilization at this point in time. Perhaps later. Now, he only needed to find a shrine to Akatosh, if one still remained outside of a Temple. There had been one, he recalled, southwest of the Dwemer city of Mzulft. He would head there first and directed Kruzikrel to turn south.

An hour later he flew over the ancient dwarven city and ordered the elder green dragon to set him down on a large, round crater to the west of a cobbled road that ran north and south.

"What is this thing?" he asked in wonder.

Kruzikrel blinked his eyes in surprise. "It is a dragon mound, _thuri,"_ he replied, slowly. "After Alduin was banished, the _joore_ rose up against us. When the Akaviri waged war on my _zeymah_ , many died, and were entombed in mounds like these."

"And this one is open, because…?"

"Whoever once lay here was raised by Alduin," Relonikiv interjected. "That does not mean that he is still in Tamriel."

"Indeed," his brother rumbled. "The young _Dovahkiin_ may very well have ended his life for a second time."

Miraak was silent. He was beginning to realize the enormity of how much time had passed while he had been trapped in Apocrypha.

"Take to the skies," he ordered them. "Hunt the wildlife, if you are hungry. I may be some time. I am not sure where to find what I am seeking, but you cannot follow me."

"As my _thuri_ commands!" both dragons roared with one voice. The wind from their wings buffeted him, but Miraak stood firm, watching them go, before turning to the west and searching the ravines and gullies on the north side of the mountain ridge that marked the edge of the geyser plain. If it had a name, he did not know it. Too much had changed in the time he had been gone. The only landmark he knew was the ruined Dwemer city, once gleaming and bright and populated with that strange race of deep-dwelling mer. Now, he could barely see it through the old growth of forest that had risen up in front of it, nestled back against the Velothi mountains.

It took him a handful of hours, scrambling up and over rocks, dealing with wolves and sabre-cats, edging his way around bubbling hot water that stank of brimstone, but he finally found the shrine. It was nestled in a ring of standing stones on an outcropping of rock directly west of the dragon mound. A handful of enormous slabs of stone pushed their way up into the sky behind an altar table on which lay several bones and viscera. Partial skeletons were strewn around the area. It was clear this place had been used by necromancers, and recently, if the condition of the remains was any indication.

In the center of the table rested the shrine, and Miraak felt unaccountably angry. To his knowledge, Auri-El, known to humans as Akatosh, did not require human sacrifices. That had been the stock in trade of the Dragon Priest cult ages ago, against whom he had rebelled.

As he approached the table, a curious purplish light encircled and enveloped the skeletons on the ground. Miraak's eyes widened as the bones knit themselves back into place, and the remains rose up, weapons in hand to attack him.

"I don't have time for this," he muttered irritably. Throwing off a Flame Cloak and a ward, he defended himself against their attacks while the Cloak did the work for him. In short order, the bones lay scattered once more on the ground, and Miraak turned his attention to the shrine. Angrily, he blasted the bones and viscera off the altar table with his Unrelenting Force. Finding some old rags behind the table, he proceeded to clean the altar to the best of his ability.

When he finished he settled himself down in front of the shrine and closed his eyes. It took some time to clear his mind, as errant thoughts drifted in and out. Ambient noises and errant scents from the living world around him crept in. Bees buzzed in the dragons tongue flowers; geyser pools burbled and bubbled. The sun was warm on his back, though there was a slight chill in the breeze that played with his long dark hair. The smell of sulphur carried on that breeze, as well, diverting him. It was far too reminiscent of the place from which he had only recently escaped. Eventually, however, Miraak was able to push all these distractions from him and find the center of calm he needed to commune.

 _Father, forgive me,_ he sent out, not expecting an answer. _I have strayed far from Your guidance and teachings. I am not worthy of the gift You bestowed upon me all those ages ago. I did not realize then that I was to have been the instrument of Your intent. I did not see that I could have prevented generations of chaos if I had heeded Your voice. I was arrogant in my desire for power. I was cruel in my hubris, believing myself to be akin to You._

His prayer took on a desperate beseeching.

 _Help me, Father,_ he pleaded. _Give me a chance to become the man I should have been. I will not go back to who I was before. Give me the chance to atone for my sins. Please, Father, I beg of You._

With trembling hands, Miraak rose and reached out to touch the Shrine. If nothing happened, he would know the Dragon God of Time and Chief of the Eight Divines had turned His back on him.

For several long moments, nothing happened, and a tightness rose in Miraak's throat. So that was it. He was rejected, banished and cut off from the Father of Dragons. He supposed he deserved it. Despair wrapped itself around him like a heavy cloak. He rose to his feet and turned to leave.

From the tail of his eye he saw a glimmer. Miraak turned back in wonder, scarcely daring to hope. The Shrine began to glow, and the Dragon that was wrapped around the sword uncoiled and lifted His head to look at Miraak. A smile lifted the corners of His mouth.

" _My son, you are far harder upon yourself than I ever could be to you."_

Miraak sank to his knees once more, his shoulders shaking in repressed emotion. His sight blurred as he knelt there. As he did, he seemed to feel a pair of arms encircle him, holding him close, though he could see no one.

" _Welcome home, my son,"_ Akatosh smiled, and Miraak gave a shuddering sigh as a peace he had not known for ages enveloped him.

* * *

They arrived in ones and twos, and some in groups of three. Tamsyn did her best to find a bed for everyone. Thank goodness she and Marcus had been able to build Heljarchen Hall they way they wanted it, without the limitations the game had set for her when she used to play years ago in another life. Knowing their home would be a central gathering place for the Alliance, they had built on no less than a half-dozen guest rooms on the second floor. The room she and Marcus shared was on the main floor, off the great hall, and Julia's bed was at one end, behind a partition wall. When she got a little older, Tamsyn intended to move her to a smaller room off the smaller dining hall, behind the great stone fireplace.

Before the guests were due, Marcus greeted his Sworn Dark Brother, Cicero and the handful of 'bodyguards' he'd brought with him. The Dragonborn was taking no chances that word of this meeting might have slipped out. It would be a perfect opportunity for the Dominion to cut off the head of the snake they worried about.

"We will be as quiet as church mice," Cicero promised Marcus. "You will never see us, but we will see everything, and everyone."

"I know I can trust you, Cicero," Marcus smiled. "I don't think I need to tell you how important this meeting is. The safety of our guests is my primary concern."

"Leave everything to me, dear brother," Cicero giggled. "If any nasty Thalmor try to sneak in here, they won't be leaving. We will even dispose of the bodies in a discreet manner!"

"That's what we need," Marcus nodded with a feral grin. "Discretion."

One of Cicero's crew stepped forward and pulled her mask down to speak.

"Dragonborn," she smiled. "I want to thank you personally for putting in a good word for me with the Keeper."

Marcus started and stared. "Sheriah!" he exclaimed, delighted. "I didn't think I'd see you again!"

"I didn't expect to be in the middle of an all-out war against the Thalmor, either," she grinned, "yet here we are. I also owe you a debt I don't think I can ever repay."

"You owe me nothing," Marcus insisted. "I'm glad things have worked out for you. You have skills we need."

"It isn't just being part of the Brotherhood," Sheriah demurred, shaking her head. "Through association with you and the work you're doing, I found my sister again. I thought she was dead."

Marcus stared blankly. "Your sister?"

Sheriah nodded. "Karliah and I were separated when we were much, much younger. I was taken in by the Tong. Apparently, Karliah—"

"She's Brynjolf's friend!" Marcus realized. "I had no idea she was your sister!"

"She is," Sheriah smiled. "We met when she delivered some documents to our Sanctuary and, well…it was like all those years melted away and we were girls together again. I never would have found her again if it hadn't been for you. So, thank you."

"I'm glad to have helped," Marcus replied sincerely.

King Ulfric was the first of the dignitaries to arrive, leaving Elisif to handle running the country from Solitude, as well as make excuses to Ambassador Ramallion of the Aldmeri Dominion for his absence there. He didn't think the Ambassador would miss him much. And he was confident that Rikke and Falk would ensure the Thalmor representative didn't attempt to take advantage of his inexperienced wife. Though, to be fair, he had to admit she had a shifty side to her that he was beginning to appreciate more and more. After all, she had managed to con the Dragonborn into chairing the Moot. And it was Elisif's idea, four years previous, to do a little 'play-acting' to present an opportunity to remove the Thalmor Ambassador from the peace talks at High Hrothgar.

Ulfric chuckled to himself. She was spirited, that was certain, and her confidence in her abilities was growing every day. His heart swelled with pride and love for his diminutive wife. In the not-too-distant future, she would give him a son or daughter. He didn't care which, as long as Elisif was by his side. He still couldn't believe his fortune, to have won the heart of a woman who had every reason to loathe him.

Tamsyn set him up in the best guest room at Heljarchen. She and Lydia had worked from sun up to sun down for three days cleaning, airing and stocking every room in the Hall. Ulfric's guards were given cots in an adjacent room.

Balgruuf was the next to arrive. Irileth remained behind in Whiterun in his absence. His only companion was his brother Hrongar. They were given a room together, across the corridor from Ulfric.

Hadvar arrived shortly after Balgruuf, but he was alone. New to his position, and having been raised up from the ranks, the young Nord still didn't feel comfortable traveling with an entourage. As the Commander in charge of general operations, his information on the progress in the training camps would be crucial to the direction they would have to take from here.

Iona arrived from Sky Haven Temple, since it was still too risky for Delphine to show her face. Iona wore standard steel armor, rather than her Blades regalia, so as to draw less attention to herself on the road. She had a pouch of documents with her regarding progress at both Sky Haven and Dragonpeak Eyrie.

One person who needed to be there had not shown up by the evening before the meeting, and Marcus was mildly concerned, though he knew Brynjolf would choose his own time and place to make his entrance.

Long after the sun had set that evening, Madanach showed up with Borkul in tow.

"Kaie's minding the store," he told Marcus, after greeting Tamsyn and the other guests.

"Didn't expect to see you, honestly," Marcus admitted. "But we've got plenty of room. Come on, I'll take you upstairs."

"Nice place you've got here, Dragonborn," the Reach King drawled. "I hear you've been buying up Skyrim one piece at a time. Are you leaving anything for me?"

A year or two ago, a comment like that from Madanach would have made Marcus grind his teeth on words best left unsaid. Now, he brushed it off, knowing it was just the old Reachman's way.

He shrugged. "I figure if things don't work out the way you want, I can always donate it back to you after I'm gone," he quipped, and Madanach laughed.

"You're assuming I'm going to out-live you," the older man chuckled.

"We're heading into a war," Marcus said somberly. "There's every chance that might happen."

All mirth went out of his companion. "Yeah," Madanach sighed. "It does look that way, doesn't it?" Then he brightened. "Still, we can take a lot of them with us to the Void when we go."

Marcus shuddered. "Please don't mention the Void!" he begged. The horrors of recent events were still too raw in his memory.

Madanach patted his shoulder in sympathy. The Dragonborn was still too young to have lost any fear of the nothingness that the old Reachman embraced. His soul was ready. He just hoped he would live long enough to see his country returned to him before he went.

"You two can bunk in here," Marcus said, throwing open the door to a room at the far end of the hall. It was remote and quiet, and furthest away from Ulfric Stormcloak, who still was not on the best of terms with the old Reach King. "If you need anything else, just say the word," he added, turning to go.

" _Dragonborn, wait."_

Two pairs of eyes, one set of grey and one set of blue, turned in surprise. Borkul was standing just behind Madanach, but had gone eerily rigid. His normally purple eyes had taken on a red hue.

"Borkul?" Madanach inquired. "You feeling alright?"

" _Borkul is merely my mouthpiece for the moment,"_ the orc said. _"I wanted to speak to the Dragonborn, and this was the only way."_

"Madanach," Marcus murmured. "What the hell's going on?" He was feeling a slight atmospheric pressure change, as if they were being visited by some powerful, otherworldly being.

"I think we've got company," Madanach replied, suddenly comprehending. "Are we in the presence of Malacath?" he asked his tranced bodyguard.

" _Very perceptive of you, Reach King,"_ the patron of the orcs responded. _"You've got brains, at least. Not like that idiot Yamarz at Largashbur. Your son was instrumental in rooting out that coward, Dragonborn. Good lad. Strong warrior, and not bad with magic."_

Things clicked into place in Marcus' mind as he remembered Blaise's letter, telling him how they had helped some orcs at a stronghold near Riften remove a curse they were under.

"Something on your mind, Malacath?" Marcus asked, cautiously. He didn't know much about the Daedric Prince of the Spurned beyond what Neloth had told him.

" _I just wanted to thank you for culling the herd, that's all,"_ the Prince said. _"Mora was a growing problem for those of us who don't view all mortals as playthings."_

Marcus let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "I'm sorry about Scourge," he said, with genuine regret. Madanach's eyes widened in wonder.

"You're going to have to tell me this story, Dragonborn!" he breathed.

"Later," hissed Marcus.

Malacath's voice took on a rumble of approval. _"Don't be,"_ he said shortly. _"You used my weapon for the purpose for which it was made. Some of the Daedra are calling foul, but Mora brought it upon himself when he knocked you off that dragon. Just wanted to say good job and thanks."_

Almost unconsciously, Marcus bowed slightly from the waist and inclined his head with respect. "Thank _you,_ for forging such a weapon in the first place," he replied. "Its loss is devastating, but I couldn't have done it without Scourge."

" _No,"_ Malacath agreed bluntly. _"You couldn't have. And Scourge is not destroyed. I created it. It will return to me. It might take more lifetimes than you have left, Dragonborn, but it will return to me. My time is up. You can have Borkul back."_

With that the presence vanished, and Borkul's eyes returned to their usual violet hue. He staggered slightly, as if dizzy, and shook his head to clear it.

"Wha—what happened?" he growled, frowning.

Madanach smiled, clapping his friend on the back. "You, my boy, have just been blessed."

"I have?" Borkul blinked.

Marcus grinned as the older man chuckled. "I'll fill you in later. For now, let's unpack."

* * *

The mood around the great hall table was somber. Everyone was seated, and Marcus had called upon each in turn to read their reports. He stood at the head of the table, too restless to sit. Tamsyn was seated to his right, with Ulfric, out of respect for his position, to Marcus' left. Next to Tamsyn sat Balgruuf, and next to him was Madanach. Iona was to Ulfric's left with Hadvar on her other side. Brynjolf lounged at the far end. Marcus called upon each in turn to summarize the reports they had all spent the morning perusing.

"I don't know how much longer our men and women can wait before their nerves fray and their restlessness turns to something worse," Balgruuf said. "Already there have been reports in Blackreach of captains having to break up altercations."

"It's true," Hadvar concurred, a frown wrinkling his otherwise smooth brow. "Arm-wrestling to solve differences of opinion will only go just so far. The troops need to know they aren't training in vain. They've been at this for almost four years now."

"The troops in Mzulft haven't had this problem," Ulfric added, "yet. But it's only a matter of time. Right now, the reports I've received from Galmar state they are still too busy fighting Falmer resistance, which is heavy in the Velothi Mountains. They've found a few pockets of enslaved, uncorrupted Snow Elves, but those are few and far between. At least the skirmishes with the Falmer give them a target for their excess energy."

"That's not a solution for Bthardamz," Madanach growled. "There aren't that many Falmer out our way. But we _have_ been encountering more and more Thalmor patrols," he reported. "It seems the Dominion is stepping up their game. They haven't made any moves against our Redoubts yet, but only because Essie – I mean, Jarl Esmerelda – has assured them there are no Talos-worshippers in a Reachfolk encampment. Once it becomes clear my people are aligned with yours, that immunity will vanish like a badly-placed Ward."

"What have you been doing regarding the Thalmor patrols?" Tamsyn asked.

"Oh, they vanish like those afore-mentioned Wards," Madanach grinned wickedly. "But we have to find those patrols first, and I have no intention of attacking too often and calling attention to my people before the Dragonborn here gives the word that all bets are off."

"Iona." Marcus turned to his former Housecarl-turned-Blade. "Tell us what you have about the progress in Skyhaven Temple and Dragonpeak Eyrie."

Iona stood and cleared her throat. "Naturally, you must understand that we have to work covertly," she began. "We can't afford to be seen by Thalmor patrols before we can wipe them out. To that end, we travel in groups of two or three, and usually at night."

"I thought Delphine was working on a new design for the Blades armor?" Brynjolf cut in. "Something that won't be recognized as their organization by the enemy?"

"She is," Iona nodded. "But that will take some time to get enough suits made at Skyhaven and issue them to every Blade member. In addition, we need to make a separate version of it for the Blades at Dragonpeak Eyrie."

"Why two different versions?" Balgruuf asked.

"Those who will be riding dragons asked that we make lighter armor than the standard regalia," Iona explained. "They need something that will reduce weight and…" She glanced at her notes. "And wind resistance?" She raised an eyebrow at Marcus, who nodded in comprehension. "Yes, wind resistance, while they're up in the air," she finished. "So that will also take time."

"We've had a report," Marcus began, "that things aren't going well at Dragonpeak. What do you know about that?"

"Benor reports everything to the Grand Master, Delphine," Iona shrugged. "I believe they only have about a dozen dragons agreeing to work with them right now. That's far behind their goal of twenty by the end of last month. Benor assured us he's doing everything in his power to recruit more of them to our cause, but he didn't elaborate on how he was planning to do that."

Iona's tone was carefully neutral. Whatever she thought about Benor's abilities as Grand Master of Dragonpeak, she kept to herself. Marcus decided not to mention Amalie's letter to him, but he made a mental note to make a visit to Dragonpeak sooner, rather than later.

"Where does this all leave us?" Ulfric asked. "Are we ready to take on the Dominion or are we not?"

"General Rikke says that since the Emperor is still unaware of our resistance force, that any overt action we take against the Thalmor would be considered a breech of the White-Gold Concordat," Hadvar said. "While she supports our efforts, Skyrim must present a front of unity with the Empire, now that the Civil War is over. Anything else would risk losing the support of the Imperial troops while the Dominion marches into Skyrim."

"We'd still have the Reachfolk," Balgruuf pointed out, "and the dragons we do have at the moment."

"It might not be enough, Balgruuf," Marcus said. "The Dominion would sweep up over the Jeralls in force if they thought we were launching an all-out assault against them. And the Emperor would do nothing to stop them. His hands would be tied. We still don't have the Redguards back into the fold yet. I've been working on that, but some other things got in the way. Now that that's been dealt with, I have some time to lay some serious groundwork."

"I've got some information that might sway a few minds," Brynjolf ventured with a knowing smile, and Marcus felt a pain in his coin purse. Well, after all, he _had_ promised to pay for anything useful the Nord thief could find. And the information the red-haired rogue had presented late last night had been an eye-opener, to be sure.

"What information is this?" Balgruuf scowled. It was no secret he still didn't trust Brynjolf.

With a nod from Marcus, Bryn sat up straighter. He pulled a sheaf of papers from the satchel at his side and divided it into two, passing half to his left and half to his right. Each person took one and passed the rest down. Brynjolf gave them several minutes to read the reports.

"Is this true?" Hadvar breathed.

"Every word," Bryn confirmed. "Ask the Dragonborn. He knows."

All heads turned to Marcus, and he shrugged. "Yes, I do know," he said sternly. "But the secret isn't mine alone to keep. And now that all of you know, you need to keep it to yourselves. Let it go no further than this room. We don't want to paint a target on his back. Just hold it in your heart that we've got some hope, okay?"

"Aye," Ulfric rumbled. The look on his face was a mix of concern and relief. "The Emperor has an heir. Who would have thought?"

* * *

 _[Author's Note: And that's just about it. I have a short epilogue I will be including shortly, tying up a few last loose ends. Please take a moment to let me know what you think. Thank you!]_


	17. Chapter 17

**Epilogue**

Marcus made the trip to High Hrothgar to speak with Miraak, who had gone there immediately after his pilgrimage to the shrine of Akatosh. The Greybeards, at first, were reluctant to allow him to enter the monastery, or join their number. It was, oddly enough, Paarthurnax that insisted they permit this, being that it was his Father's wish. With the addition of Miraak to their order as a "novice" Greybeard, it was understood that once he was fully trained and inducted, Master Einarth, the oldest among them, would be permitted to join his forebears in Aetherius. That was still, of course, a handful of years away.

While at High Hrothgar, Miraak taught Marcus how to incorporate Force Without Effort, the meditation of _fus,_ into an ability to Shout more frequently, with a much quicker cool-down period, into his arsenal. In addition, Marcus learned how to use the Bend Will Shout to persuade, rather than command. Combined with his natural ability to persuade people, Marcus quickly realized that he could probably persuade the Dominion it would be a bad idea to attempt to take over Tamriel.

Miraak laughed. "I wouldn't want to be the one to attempt that," he grinned. "You may try, but I would keep your sword arm ready if the results do not go as planned." Marcus gave a rueful smile as he realized Miraak was probably right.

"There is one more Shout I should teach you, Dragonborn," Miraak offered. "You are headed into a conflict where you are fighting for your very survival. You may find this useful."

He taught Marcus the _thu'um_ he had discovered in Apocrypha, and Marcus was staggered at the knowledge gifted to him.

"I would have used it," Miraak added, the burden of loss reflected in his eyes, "but I did not have the opportunity. Use it sparingly. It will demand much of your vital essence to use."

With that parting caution, Miraak returned to the monastery, leaving Marcus outside in the windswept courtyard.

From High Hrothgar he directed Odahviing to take him to Dragonpeak Eyrie. Benor was surprised and delighted to see him, but Marcus also saw the worry in his friend's hazel eyes.

"We've got about a dozen dragons on our side," he offered enthusiastically.

Marcus nodded. "We were hoping for more, though," he pointed out, hating how Benor's face fell.

"Yeah, I know," the young Nord said. "Mistwing and Firefall have been talking to the other dragons, but so far they haven't listened."

Firefall, Marcus knew, was Benor's dragon. "Maybe," he ventured, "maybe Mistwing and Firefall aren't being acknowledged because they aren't as powerful as their _zeymah_."

"I'm not sure how we can get around that," Benor worried. "So far, that's all we've been able to persuade to join us."

"I'll speak with them," Marcus promised, more confident than he had been even a few months ago. "Are there any that hang out in this area?"

"There's a couple that swing by every now and then, to get a look at us," Benor nodded. "They only attempted an attack once and got beaten back pretty badly. They watch us from a distance now. You can see one up there, on the peak." He pointed, and Marcus could see an ancient bronze dragon eyeing them curiously from his perch.

"Does he have a name?" Marcus asked.

"Not that we've been able to learn," Benor replied, shaking his head.

Marcus blew out a breath of frustration. That made it a bit more difficult. Still, it was not impossible.

"I'll go have a chat," Marcus offered, and made his way to the cleared area to remount Odahviing.

Launching himself into the air, and at Marcus' instruction, Odahviing bellowed a challenge to the ancient one, who leaped from his perch to answer. The old one belched out a blast of frost and Marcus threw up a Ward to take the brunt of it. When the older dragon flew under them, Odahviing followed him down with a column of fire. Marcus targeted the bronze drake with his own firebolts, and when the ancient one rose up and passed in front of them, he bellowed out Dragonrend.

Squawking in alarm, the bronze wyrm floundered to the ground, landing heavily.

"Stay back," Marcus called out, using his Throw Voice to project his command. "I'll handle this one." To Odahviing he ordered, "Take us down, but don't interfere."

"As my _thuri_ commands," the crimson drake said gleefully. "This will be entertaining to watch!"

Marcus leaped off Odahviing almost as soon as the dragon touched down, another Dragonrend prepared in case it might be needed. He threw up another Ward and advanced on the ancient bronze dragon, still writhing in the throes of the _thu'um_ laid upon him, but he did not draw his sword.

Speaking in _dovahzul,_ he addressed the elder wyrm.

"You know who I am." It was a statement, not a question.

"You are the one called Dragonborn," came the reply. "Yes. I know you. Why have you attacked me? I have done nothing."

Ordinarily, this would have stricken Marcus with guilt. In any other situation, this would have been an unprovoked assault. But there were extenuating circumstances.

"Why did you accept the challenge, then?" Marcus countered. "You could have refused."

"And be seen as lesser than an elder?" the old one snorted. "No. You know I could not do that."

"Then our challenge is valid, and you have no complaint," Marcus pointed out.

The ancient drake blinked in acknowledgement of this point.

"There are other ways you could have used to get my attention, if all you wanted was _tinvaak,_ " the old one pointed out, switching to the common tongue.

"Would you have answered?" Marcus shot back blandly in the same language, knowing the truth.

The old dragon shook out his head, in the way of a shrug. "Perhaps not," he allowed. "So. You have my attention now, _Dovahkiin_. What is it you want?"

"Your assistance," Marcus replied, as Dragonrend faded. He was prepared to use it again if the old one refused, but for now, Bend Will – modified to persuade – would serve better. "My people are fighting a war for survival against the Aldmeri Dominion. Your own father, Akatosh, has charged me to bring the _dov_ to our cause. If the Dominion wins, they will kill everyone who is not an Altmer. While you might think this doesn't affect the _dov,_ you would be wrong. The Dominion plans to wipe out _all_ other races besides themselves. This includes the dragons as well, since they do not believe the 'beast races,' as they call them, deserve to live. It is in your best interests to aid us."

The ancient one remained silent, considering.

"Once the Dominion has obliterated the Empire's military, there will be nothing to stop them from systematically rounding up and exterminating everyone and everything they feel is beneath them. There is no Alduin to bring you back, if you die." He paused, giving a modest smile. "There's only me, now."

Behind him, he heard Benor gasp. Odahviing, who knew, gave a rumble of approval.

"He speaks the truth, Old One," the red dragon confirmed. "I was there when he learned the _thu'um._ The _Dovahkiin_ can bring us back if we die, though it will cost him greatly. He is not, after all, an immortal Dragon God, but he has been chosen by Bormah, our Father."

"If I join you," the ancient drake said slyly, after several moments' thought, "what do you offer me in return?"

"Your life," Marcus said bluntly. "I don't have time to pussy-foot around here. Either you acknowledge me as your _thuri_ without combat, or we battle, we kill you, and I take your soul. It's as simple as that."

The old one was silent for a minute before replying. "I will serve you, _thuri,_ " he sighed. " _Onikaan koraav gein miraad._ It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice."

"I said as much myself not long ago," Odahviing chuckled.

"What does my _thuri_ command of me?" the ancient bronze dragon asked, throwing an annoyed look at the younger red firedrake.

"First of all, you need a name," Marcus said. "I know Alduin hung those over your heads as a reward for service, but I'm not Alduin." He pondered for a moment. "In deference to your venerability and wisdom, I name you Tolasiik."

"Advisor, eh?" Tolasiik mused. "And who am I to advise?"

"The other _dov,_ " Marcus said. "Let them know what's going on. Tell them if they wish to survive, they would do well to throw their lot in with us. If they refuse, ask them how many of you are left, compared to how many you once numbered. Ask them if they like their chances against a faction that would see them dead. Persuade them to rethink their position. Then tell them if they change their minds, to come here. Benor will speak with them."

"But he is not _Dovahkiin,_ " Tolasiik pointed out. "He does not even know our language."

"I'm learning," Benor said defensively. "Firefall is teaching me."

"Benor is my representative here," Marcus said firmly. "When you speak to him, you speak to me. If any of the other _dov_ have a problem with that, I'll be happy to prove them wrong." There was an underlying tone of threat in his voice. This was too important to be misunderstood, and too big for egos to get in the way.

"I will do as you say, _Dovahkiin,_ " Tolasiik agreed, doubtfully. "I cannot promise how successful I may be."

"All I ask is that you make the attempt, Tolasiik," Marcus smiled. "I won't hold their actions against you."

The ancient dragon gave a nod and a grunt in reply before lifting himself into the air, vanishing into the distance to spread the word.

And spread the word he did. True to his word, Tolasiik contacted many of the remaining _dov_ across Tamriel. Some, feeling they had nothing to lose, came to Dragonpeak Eyrie to join the Blades there. Others, particularly older dragons, felt they would take their chances by hiding in the mountains where the Dominion could not find them. Some learned how wrong they were when they attacked Thalmor patrols in the remote passes.

This alerted Marcus to troop movements in the Jerall and Druadach Mountains. He passed the information along to Madanach, who sent his people under cover of darkness to rout out and obliterate the small Thalmor reconnaissance parties.

" _I want to thank you for sending that Dunmer woman to us,"_ Madanach wrote in one of his reports. _"Aranea Ienith, I believe her name is. Says she met you at the Shrine of Azura. Woman knows more about magic than even some of our Matriarchs, and has an uncanny ability to anticipate the future, though she claims Azura doesn't speak to her anymore. Pity, that. We could have used a Daedra on our side."_

Marcus decided to let that pass.

* * *

At the College of Winterhold, the Dominion was putting pressure on Tamsyn once more for them to send another 'observer,' following the unfortunate loss of Illarion several weeks before. This time, however, Tamsyn put her foot down and refused to allow it.

"I don't care if they're offended," she stormed in her quarters to Enthir and Tolfdir. "We can't have the Dominion poking their noses in around here, and we can't get real work done if they're looking over our shoulders!"

"Skyrim is still part of the Empire," Tolfdir reminded her.

"But the College is not affiliated with their Mages Guild," Tamsyn insisted. "We owe them nothing!"

"You know they'll just send in their own spies if we refuse," Enthir pointed out.

"Let them," she simmered. "I have a Truth spell. We can find out where their loyalties lay."

"Do we do that with every candidate who comes here?" Tolfdir asked severely. "Do we become paranoid about every novice who wants to learn magic? How do we decide who gets to learn magic and who doesn't? Isn't that the very thing the Dominion is doing now?"

Tamsyn fumed, but said nothing.

"Maybe we're looking at this all wrong," Enthir suggested. "What are we trying to accomplish here?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do, Enthir," Tamsyn said sourly. "We're trying to train up battlemages to fight against the Dominion. Anything they learn that is Adept level and higher falls under the heading of 'Suspicious Activity,' according to the reports we liberated from Illarion's quarters. The Dominion already strongly suspects we're teaching more than we're letting on."

"So we need to transfer those students either to Bthardamz, Blackreach or Mzulft," Enthir offered. "We move the Staff Enchanter to one of those places—"

"I think Madanach would love to have one of those," Tolfdir approved, cutting in.

"—and we remove any evidence that we're anything other than a College of scholarly mages who would never think of going into battle," Enthir finished.

"We've already done a lot of that already," Tolfdir added. "If this is the way to keep the Dominion from finding out what we're up to, then I strongly advise we consider it. At the very least, with all the advanced apparati removed, and the Adept and Expert students transferred, the new Thalmor 'advisor' will have nothing to report."

Tamsyn thought about this for several minutes.

"No," she said finally, surprising both her advisors. "I'm tired of hiding what we're doing. Magic is what it is. We are a college of mages. Magic is what we do. If the Dominion doesn't like it, that's too bad. But I'm not going to split up our resources to please them. If they want to weaken us, that's the best way to do it. And I certainly don't want to teleport all over Skyrim trying to be in several places at once to keep up with our progress. We are keeping this College intact, and I am not allowing another so-called 'advisor' here to spy on us. 'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'," she quoted.

Tolfdir sighed, and Enthir shook his head.

"Alright," he said. "If that's how you want it."

In the end, Tamsyn's will prevailed. A letter was sent to Ambassador Ramallion at the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar, respectfully refusing the offer of sending another advisor, on the grounds that complaints from her staff indicated the advisor could not be prevented from interfering in their studies and experiments.

" _I'm afraid my hands are tied,"_ she wrote. _"My scholars and Masters have the right to pursue their research without intrusion from outside parties. They are paying for their education, after all, so they are entitled to dedicate themselves to their studies without interruption. They are also very proprietary about their projects, fearing someone may plagiarize their efforts before they can publish it themselves. I'm sure you understand._

" _In addition,"_ she continued, _"we have had a run of bad luck lately with new novices coming to us to learn. Many are unqualified, and several have learned only the basics of magic before leaving. This is, in our considered opinion, a waste of our time and resources that could better be applied to a student who is more serious in their studies. To this end, we are reviewing our admissions policy, and will be taking steps to screen our candidates more carefully, to prevent this sort of thing from happening again."_

In his private study at the Embassy, which had once been Elenwen's Solar, Ramallion z'ha Cirdain crushed the parchment and tossed it in the fire. She was a wily one, that Arch-Mage, he had to admit. He had no doubt the true reason for her refusal. She was also putting him on notice that anyone he sent undercover would find it much more difficult to just join up and blend in. It told him what he needed to know, however. The College of Winterhold, that oh-so-august bastion of magic in the North, was definitely gearing up for war. There could be no other reason for the refusal to send in a representative of the Dominion. Illarion's reports were as useless as he had been. He felt no remorse at all for the 'unfortunate accident' the young mer had encountered. In point of fact, he was surprised the ineffective fetcher had lasted as long as he had. Page after page of useless drivel about novices and apprentices, restoration and alchemy. If the Arch-Mage wanted to speak of wasted time and resources, he could match her point for point. Yes, she was very clever. The question remained whether she was clever enough, prepared enough, for an all-out assault against her College.

She was about to find out.

 **E N D**

* * *

 _[Author's Note: And that's it. The stage has been set for the Last Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion. Is the Alliance ready? Are they strong enough to take on the combined forces of Altmer plus all the races they have oppressed and conscripted? We shall see._

 _Thank you to all who have stayed with me through three stories. Thank you to all the newcomers who have just discovered this series. I hope to start soon on the last installment, for which I do not yet have a name. As Marcus would say, "I'm open to suggestion."_

 _Your faith and encouragement have kept me going through this, and with that in my corner, I'm sure I'll be able to fabricate something out of whole cloth for the last book. We are heading into uncharted territory, as most of the next book will not be in the game. Rather, it will be a projection of how I feel the Last Great War would go with a Dragonborn – and a highly unusual Arch-Mage – leading the resistance. That said, don't be surprised if a few minor, familiar side-quests show up._

 _If you have any questions, please leave a comment, and I will update this Epilogue to answer them. Again, thank you all! ~~Aurora Nova.]_

 ** _UPDATE: July 8, 2018 -_** _I have begun work on the final installment of this series, which is entitled "Into the Light." Thank you to Dragonrdr135 for the suggestion. Chapter 1 has already been posted, if you haven't seen it yet. There will be a little bit of jumping back and forth in time as I tie up all the loose threads, but those will be time-stamped. In addition, this story will be in two parts, with the Part One subtitled "In the Company of Thieves." Please take a moment to look it up and review. Thank you again!_ _  
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